


Dignity and Discrimination

by Milky_Maid_Library



Category: Bright (2017), Fanficition - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst and Drama, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ballroom Dancing, Blackmail, Caning, Centaurs, Class Differences, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Drama & Romance, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Dubious Consent, Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, French Revolution, Georgian Period, Goblins, Hate Sex, Historical Inaccuracy, Humans, Light Bondage, Love/Hate, Orc and Human, Orc x human, Orcs, Past Relationship(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Permanent Injury, Pride and Prejudice References, Punishment, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sisters, Smut is in chapter 10, Stockings, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Vaginal Sex, past life?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milky_Maid_Library/pseuds/Milky_Maid_Library
Summary: Miss Calista Maria Flores is in a tight situation. She has been encouraged to marry a rich gentleman for the sake of her family's financial struggles...the man who she is encouraged to marry is not a man at all, he's an Orc.Lord Nicholas Jakoby, is an Orc of Dignity and makes it his goal to not only stand as a proud Orc but to also find a mate worthy of his cause...Despite their head butting, they finally find that their values are more alike than they realised.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s), Daryl Ward/Sherri Ward, Nick Jakoby/Callie Flores, Nick Jakoby/Original Female Character(s), Tikka (Bright) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [margaritamamaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaritamamaaa/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Bell Peppers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213514) by [margaritamamaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaritamamaaa/pseuds/margaritamamaaa). 



> Is this a complete rip off and near copy and paste of Pride and Prejudice/Jane Austen Novels? YES, YES IT IS! LOOK AT THE TITLE- MY DODGY RIP OFF.
> 
> I also stole lines and mini situations from Bell Peppers by Morphinetune. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!
> 
> If you see lines from the book and from Bell Peppers, I will admit to stealing them. Plagiarism is happening 101 sorry not sorry?
> 
> This is a Bright Regency Alternative Universe Fanfiction of a Fanfiction.
> 
> THIS IS VERY ALL OVER THE PLACE AND IF YOU CANT FOLLOW IT I FORGIVE YOU <3
> 
> NOTE: the characters may not seem like the characters from Bright of from Bell Peppers at first but I make it my soul goal to develop their persons throughout the fanfic into the characters we love and hold dear.

# CHAPTER 1

* * *

__

**_1799, Thursday, 4th, April_ **

Spring time in the countryside was far nicer than winter in the city. The Flores family had moved after to the plains after the oldest Flores daughters, Patricia’s misfortunate scandal with a Mister Michael and the tragic loss of Miss Rosalinda’s children…The Flores had been living here for the past two years and none of the two girls had remarried. Now the youngest daughter of the Flores household Calista Maria was ripe for the attention of any male specimen who would take her hand in marriage. The responsibility fell onto her shoulders to bring fortune to her family and to save them all from any sort of poor house and there was only one way for any female to do such a thing…is to marry a rich single man.

Calista was responsible but she was still filled with a untamed spirit, she sought the wonders of the world through novels her father brought overseas from his travelling among his tradesmen and the fields of her home. It was good to stretch her legs when she could as it escaped the constant tortures of her mother’s complaints and her sisters bickering along with the feeling of fresh air.

The stone wall bordered her from her neighbours, her new neighbours actually; the Lord Dixon and his sisters. Lord Dixon it had been gossiped was a rich bachelor worthy of forth thousand pounds a year, her save dowry was not even worth one hundred, but that did not stop Mrs Flores dictating her demands that it was Calista’s duty to seduce this man into matrimony.

This stone wall may have bordered the land, but it was fit for a beam for silly Calista to walk across. Her arms spread out and her head held high as she walked along the path of stone steadily as she rethought the events of breakfast.

That is when the news of Lord Dixon’s Ball was announced, their family had been sent and invitation. Her mother was too obsessed with the prospect of Dixon’s wealth and bachelor status rather than be concerned that the Ball would be tomorrow and none of the Flores girls had time to seam new party gowns. She rolled her eyes and scoffed at herself, why have need of a new gown?

She wondered heavily on how much her family might actually care for the women, or were they forever to be wall flowers and objects to be sold off to new homes to breed like pretty mares?

On the wind she giggled, what a day it would be where she might be respected and not just a woman alone? Woman, such a word is so fragile to claim, man was a word yet too brutish in manner for her taste. Could she be both and none? Could she be a woman who works like a man? Or a man who is as gentle as a woman… both offensive, both required, neither alike in nature…but she wish she was both. She was not a child but she was still in her mind filled with the being of a girl.

Marriage was good, but it was not what she wanted so soon. She stopped on the brick wall and through her head back to the heavens, “‘ _It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife’_ ,” Calista repeated the words of her overbearing mother…she chuckled, “ _It is your duty to marry under the pretence to bring us back into the good graces of society unlike your sisters who have disgraced us all,_ ” she shook her head, “What a load of horse sh-”

“Excuse me, Miss?” came a voice by her feet.

The young lady shrieked in fear, almost toppling over the side of the wall. Her hand soared to her chest to calm herself down and peer below at the person who called. As she quickly climbed down into the property of Dixon’s land, she landed on her feet unladylike before the stranger.

His blue skin patterned with lines of purple and green gave his obvious background away. An Orc had beckoned her.

Calista stood back as her face was only a few inches from his chest. Her tan cheeks turned rosy as she bobbed her head to him, “Good Morning.”

“Indeed,” he replied looking to the sky. She scrunched her nose, she meant it as greeting, not as question.

The Orc was unlike her fathers servants she quickly noticed. He wore a fine and clean navy tailored coat, he walked with a cane beside him and wore gentlemen’s shoes other than workorc boots. His tusks…he had none…He did not appear as a servant…but he must’ve been, he was an orc!

“Could you please spare a moment and assist me up this giant hill, Miss? I have not walked across such landscapes in a while and I am getting use to this exercise.”

Calista looked ahead of the grounds that led to the Dixon Mansion, she felt a hint of worry. He was a stranger, but he was also asking for help. Her catholic teachings commanded she do what was right in helping the misfortunate.

“Of course sir, please take my arm,” she offered herself as a good Samaritan and suddenly prayed that no one who would know her officially see her unchaperoned with a strange Orc in fine clothing.

He tipped his top hat and smiled, “Thank you, miss-?” He looped his arm beneath hers and walked at a steady pace with his cane.

Calista considered lying, it didn’t feel right for him to know her name, except why would she be so rude as to accept assistance and deny her name to him?

“I am Miss Calista Flores, sir,” She told him as she steadied his foot work alongside her, “and you?”

His smile spread further across his tuskless lips, “I am Nicholas Jakoby, Miss Flores.”

The grass poked around them as they walked, dandelions and glovers surrounded their feet as they trudged through them. The sun was subtle, behind the clouds and the breeze was kindly warm on her freckled face.

She smiled as they talked of the land and its opportunities in possible farming.

They reached the garden walls of hedges, a path now flat enough for Mister Jakoby to walk without aid yet the two still clung happily to eachother as Calista suspected a blooming friendship…how more wrong she could be? I cannot truly express in words other than, very, very wrong.

His cane clicked beside his leg as they walked the stones of the pathway, they could both start to hear the clattering of plates from the kitchens windows they were wandering nearer.

“Miss Flores?” The Orc asked with a smile, “Are you to be attending Lord Dixon’s party tomorrow evening?”

The young lady felt short of breath, “Of course, as I assume you will be assisting it?” she liked the sound of her name and how he said it with a lilt she could not compare to anyone else. Yet her joy would be torn soon.

Mr Jakoby halted his stepping entirely, his chest lifted and his tone deepened as a blank expression crossed his face, “Assisting?” he inquired further.

The young lady nodded with a slowly descended smile, she felt a tension rise from him she did not understand.

“Well, you know…” She shrugged and chuckled, “with the table setting and-” The loud slam of his cane on the path silenced her.

She noticed his grim face and sneer, “You think I am Lord Dixon’s servant, girl?” He removed his hat and smacked it across his thigh.

A shiver ran down her back as he snapped at her, “You would compare me to a servant from my appearance?”

She did not know whether his question was rhetorical, but she was now too afraid to make voice, she nodded timidly.

“You Miss Flores are an ill minded girl,” he growled, “Set yourself an education of the signs in refinement as you are heavily lacking clearly,” he jabbed a finger to her face, “and yet are so quick to comment on another for something they cannot ever change from birth to death and categorise it to a simple career forever…”

He leant forward and hissed, “I am his honoured guest….good morning to you, _girl_.”

He left her, scuffing slight dust behind him as he marched towards kitchen doors. She sneezed and trembled…

_Girl_ , that was his insult, he called her a girl forgetting the propriety of titles, forgetting she was Miss Flores, not _girl_. Girl, something she had so gladly clung to in these days of pressing demands of engagements was now stolen and used as an insult to belittle her appearance and her knowledge.

Calista was taken a back with a gasp and an uncontrollable quip to return.

“And what are you Mister Jakoby? An Orc pretending to be a man?”

His glare was cold and dark, punishing; it was the same yellow eyes a wolf might have before taking it’s kill and letting it die for its pleasure rather than its feast.

“I could forgive your ignorance for your youth, but not for your insolence, girl,” and with that he left her completely horrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a nice cool drink of strawberry milk with some ice.


	2. Stars for Refinement and Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calista is set a new goal and it is worse than she imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The script of one scene from Bell Peppers Chapter 6: brave was used as the girls put on their makeup. This chapter explains her cannon star face "tattoos."
> 
> AGAIN I THINK I LOST FLOW SO FORGIVE THIS WRITING

# CHAPTER 2

* * *

**_1799, Thursday, 4th, April_ **

The poor girl, not girl but not womanly Miss Calista Flores fell into a sprint back to the wall that divided her father’s property and Dixons with tears prickling her eyes. She knew she had not meant any intention to be so awful, she would’ve apologised if she was not such a spiteful twit and said her crude remark out loud. She climbed over the stones and scrapped her knees and palms, twigs caught in her brown hair and scrapped unkindly across her scalp. She felt miserable, guilty, embarrassed and most definitely humiliated!

Scampering her way home like a dog’s tail between its legs, her older sister met her at the back door. Her face was wet and red as she ran into her older slightly more beautiful version of herself.

“Darling sister! What has become of you?” Rosalinda cooed, holding her sister into her chest the moment she saw those big blotching tears.

“Oh Rosie!” She whimpered into her sisters’ shoulder, “It is awful, I am so much as a fool as a goat!”

Her sisters playful l laughter was a cruel stab to her predicament, “Callie, my dear, what have you done now?” her hands combed the loose, tangled hair from her eyes.

“An Orc I met on my walk, he- hic- he compared me to a child Rosie!” She sobbed, “he insulted me, he said I had no refinement!”

“Oh heavens! Woe is me for I must tell you this again,” She held her sister away and cupped her cheek, “worry not what others would think, _especially_ Orcs,” she rolled her eyes and smirked,

“Who cares for their thoughts of us?”

Playfully she tapped her baby sister’s nose and cackled at her fussy mumbling. She led her sister back inside and sat her in the sitting room, a hot pot of tea was waiting for them. She handed her sniffling sister a cup and poured into it as she exclaimed, “You are the youngest and most beautiful sister of us three and much handsomer than our brother.”

Dropping a sugar cube into the cup she smiled lovingly. The tea was warm against her lips, her salty tears dripping into the cup while she slurped and whimpered. Her older sister softly shook her head and sighed, “You are accomplished with knowledge, I know not many young women our age who would know business like father….you are everything refined and more,” she giggled and stole her cup from her, “So stop your silly tears and come help me choose a gown for tomorrow evening.”

Callie smoothed out her dress and nodded, digging into her pocket she found her handkerchief and wiped her face. She was so grateful to her older sister, she was not as brutal as her oldest sister and mother when delivering their opinions. She was the kindest and possibly the wisest of the sisters, except when it came to the choice of husbandry…

Rosalinda’s eyes gleamed with excitement, gently tugging her sad sister upstairs to their shared bedroom. The sounds of the stairs creaked and squeaked every footfall…Calista noticed something unusual, “The house is so quiet,” she noted.

Her sister acknowledge and answered feverishly, “Yes, Mother, Father Patricia and Santiago have all decided to visit Aunt Laidee,” she shook her head and laughed, “It would seem there is more to the Ball than we know, mother wishes to be prepared; by prepared she means you baby sister.”

Callie this time cringed her face up and giggled nervously, she sat on their bed as her sister dragged out the chest of gowns, opening it up she picked at dress after dress, “Oh Calista,” she moaned, “She was quaking like an obnoxious drake all morning the moment she noticed you had ran off after breakfast! She has already started picking baby names for you and Mr Dixon.”

Her little sister groaned and tore a pillow into her chest, digging her chin into it she too moaned,

“Oh sister, please cease, you torment me!”

Rosalinda did not relent their mother’s vicious confessions, “ _The first girl should be named after me for caring for you ever so tenderly for so long,”_ Her sister mocked with a hand on her chest and fanning herself, while Calista scoffed and whined.

Her mother was so embarrassing she wondered constantly on how her father ever decided to ask for her hand. For if Calista was a man, Mrs Flores would’ve been the last woman she-he would ever marry!

Rosie continued on after she took amusement, she stripped before their mirror as she continued, _“and the first boy most certainly after Lord Dixon but the second boy will be after your father or your father’s father, blah, blah, blah_ -“ She poked her little sister in the forehead harshly and laughed, “all morning Callie! And you weren’t here to hear it! Now please help tighten my corset, heaven bless I have lost ten pounds since the birth of the twins.”

Calista nodded solemnly, she knew why Rosalinda was so excited…she could remarry now…her mourning period was over. She was still young enough, a spinster, but still not too old to bear more cherubs to the future family of her future husband. She loved her children and despite her families opinions, she did love her deceased husband….yet now she could finally lay them to rest in her heart and carry on with a proper life.

Her fingers curled and tightened the wires to her sisters corset and finally gave in. She hugged her sister from behind and kissed her shoulder softly, “I appreciate your sacrificed ears Rosie. Truly.” The two looked into the mirror together and smiled at each other.

“Of course, can’t imagine Patricia to. She was fuming in envy.” She twisted around and cupped

Calistas hands, her eyes blazing with humour, “I remember when she was your age, don’t you?”

“Ugh!” Calista rolled her eyes, “She would always wear that awful bonnet sister, do not remind me so. She would hit me with it too!”

Rosie whacked her hand across her sister’s shoulder, “Only because you deserved it so! You are so untamed. Now, dresses!”

They both crawled around the chest and peeled gown after dress after silken glove.

“What ever shall we wear sister?” Rosie beamed, her little sister pointed to the blue gown, “Blue is your colour Rosie, it always has an always will be.”

Her sister lifted the gown to her chest and sighed, “Then, what of you then Calista?”

Even though she new this was her only chance of a first impression in enchanting Lord Dixon, she had no desire in the matter. And despite what her sister said, she has always said and would always say it, Rosalinda was the most beautiful amongst the three Flores daughters.

She would leave her sister the opportunity to seduce Lord Dixon. She had the eyes and lips and most glorious hips no man could deny.

Calista lifted her fingers and dove to the bottom of the chest, finding the ‘perfect’ gown.

“….The cream….” Her sister groaned, “But, Callie that is so dull!”

She tried so hard to convince her sister to wear the orange with lilac fringing but still Calista denied them all. She held the cream gown to her chest and sighed dreamily and jabbed the toe of her shoe into her sister’s thigh.

“Good, then you can swoop in a steal Lord Dixon with your beauty in bell blue. I shall dully vacate to the corner of the room and hide in the drapes.”

Before she could listen to her sister’s speech on how unproductive and upsetting she was behaving and speaking, a cry from their mother echoed the entire house. The arrival was not hard to go unnoticed, “Rosalinda!! Has that disobedient sister of yours returned!!!? I have overwhelming news!!”

But the ‘overwhelming news’ would not come until much later.

* * *

The family all dined in the late afternoon, roasted quails on each person’s plate. It had been hours since their return and hours since her father forbade his wife to release the ‘overwhelming news’. “Mr Flores, you have forced me to remain silent for too long, will you allow me to speak to my children?” Mrs Flores snapped across the table. And by children she meant Calista…Calista winced at the volume her mother spoke, always so loud. She bit her lip, poking her roasted quail with her fork lazily.

Her father scratched his moustache and smirked, “Very well Mrs Flores, if you must, you may tell them now.”

And by them….they meant Calista.

Her mother grinned wickedly and lifted her wine to her lips, “Now, girls, listen closely. I had set the task of you to wooing and conquering Lord Daryl Dixon into matrimony for he is financially equipped with four thousand pounds a year… I beseech you to forget him.”

A clatter of metal against glass plates, was heard as Rosalinda and Calista gasped, dropping their cutlery. They quickly looked at eachother, Rosalinda with concern, Calista with relief.

“Rosalinda, Patricia, seek him out if you wish but I will not have Calista near him!” she madly cackled, clapping her hands.

Her youngest daughter tried hard to hold back her giant smile, but the corners of her lips would not be frozen, they uncontrollably ticked up. She believed her mother had officially cracked, the pressing stress of her daughters lives on her shoulders forced her to succumb into hysteria and complete insanity. But her mother was surely to reach this point someday so it did not upset Calista especially if it meant she didn’t have to be married now.

“Mother…” Rosalinda hesitantly piped up from the silence, “W-why not Calista?”

Patricia smiled venomously, “Because M-”

“Shush Patricia,” their mother scolded, “I am speaking, not you!” she slammed her hands on the table and refilled her glass of wine, the oldest daughter jerked back into her seat from the scolding blow of their mother.

“Because Rose my darling,” Their mother forcibly grasped Calista’s hand and squeezed hard, I have found Calista a new prize steer.”

 _Damn_ , Calista squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth, _who now?_

“He makes twice as much as Lord Dixon at ten thousand pounds per annum!” releasing her daughter’s hand, Calista hissed as the blood flowed back into her fingers, “Not only is he a lord, but a knighted sir from his royal majesty! He is a retired regiment soldier, he fought in France and against the Irish rebellion! He has also recently moved to abandoned park and mansion left by those French elves, the one not far from here…He even owns ten horses and all his money selfmade!”

“Mother, pray tell of his name? You told us nearly everything but that,” Rosalinda asked cutting into a potato, “You make me envy my little sister’s new expected conquest.”

Calista did not miss her chance and stepped on her sisters’ foot beneath the table. They both hissed.

Her mother was buzzing with excitement and stood from her chair and screamed happily, “His name is Lord Nicholas Jakoby!”

 _Oh no_ ….The meat in her mouth had been sucked too quickly down her throat as she gasped, she gagged and choked raggedly. _Oh yes_ , the very person she had upset that day was now her new goal in marriage! She couldn’t believe this was happening! Tears prickled the back of her eyes as she tried so hard to wake up from this nightmare.

Her little brother Santiago was quick to lean to her and pat her back to help her coughed it out.

“Heavens Calista do not choke,” Her mother scolded, “it is irritable to the hear and unladylike to perform.”

As she finally hacked up the meat into a napkin, she drank her water and gasped, “May I please be excused?”

As her father let her loose from the table, she was quick to burst out of the dining room and run up stairs to her room. She fell into the chair in front of her mirror and stared at her reflection.

This had to have been the worst news in her life. Her sisters had been through their misery, now it was her turn…It would seem the heavens were against her, what had she done to displease fates so greatly? Her face fell into her hands and the tears came back. She was only glad that the cream dress was still dull enough for her to hide into the crowd or maybe even escape to the estates gardens.

She could hear her mother happily telling Rosalinda of the prospects of marrying her daughters off all to rich men…did her mother even know that he was an Orc? It did not really matter but not many approved of such relationships and it was rare to ever hear of wealthy Orcs unless they were in Russia.

She stumbled in the darkening gloom as the sun was setting fast. Ripping away her day time clothes she crawled beneath the covers of her bed and sobbed into her pillow. She felt like her life was ending and what was better than praying for a imminently swift death…

The night was dark and the only light now was the flickering candle Rosalinda carried inside, setting on the side table. It had been an hour later when her sister came in and crawled beside her, holding her little sister close and petted her dark hair. She sensed something wrong but with little Calista snoring away, she could not have it in her heart to wake her and ask. But even if she was asleep Rosie prayed that her sister would live a good and happy life.

* * *

**_1799, Friday, 5th, April_ **

Calista groaned, her lips looked so small, the lighter shade of powder did nothing to compliment them. She wanted to impress the regimental soldiers who had returned along with the attractive gentlemen and elves, but the colour on her lips was like a nude bare tone. She wanted to make a point though should anyone…should a particular….’honoured guest’ intend to cross her over again she would be prepared to confidently flaunt and retort in reply…her lips however were not at all signifying her non-verbal message.

Her oldest sister Patricia was busy rouging her cheeks, bringing the life back into her miserable cheeks. The middle Flores girl Rosalinda was applying her own lip colour, a shade of black.

“Good Heavens sister,” Rosalinda gasped, “What brand of lip wax is that? It does nothing for you!”

Calista rolled her eyes at her sister’s bluntness, turning the cap of the stick she read the scripture engraved in the tube, “ _Kat Von D_? A failure to my complexion indeed.”

She slapped the lip cream back into the box of their beauty and cosmetic items. All three stood in their underclothes, wraps in their hair waiting to dry into perfect curls.

“That’s surely justice for not applying a product from the incandescent Jeffree Star,” Patricia chimed in, as she pounded her face with white chalk, highlighting her olive skin.

“Surely Kat Von D would have made a lip cream just as, if not, more seductive,” Callie grumbled, browsing through the large collection of lip shades and blushes and powders. 

Patricia shook her head and plucked a black coal pencil, etching in the shape of a small heart on the right bottom of her lip.

As Calista observed this from the corner of her eye she internally scoffed and rolled her eyes. Mouche marks were so very ridiculous, and she was sure it was going out of fashion….so maybe her sister was brilliant. If it was outdated than she would wear it!

Patricia scoffed while she search for the black paint in the box, “Little sister your wicked motives will surely cause us all embarrassment.”

“Try this powder, The brand Jeffree Star hails it with a the term, ‘Weirdo’ behold my own lips, do I not look _forbid_?,” Rosie giggled, pointing to her own mouth after applying the solid black to her mouth. Callie then scoffed playfully at her widowed sister. She wondered if the blue gown her sister was going to wear would be too mismatched to her face and hair.

“I said seductive sister, not nearing my coffin in the grave,” Calista said wiping her lips clean on a face wash cloth.

“It would make a most stunning and telling statement,” Patricia said through the corner of her mouth.

“What of Jeffree Stars labelled cream ‘ _Anna Nichole_ ’ sister?” She lifted it up and uncrewed the lip, dipping the tip of her finger into the cream lfting it up to the sunlight to show a dark reddishorange shade. “Is it not divine for a girl of Flores?” Calista asked her sisters.

After placing down the blush sponge her sister held, Rosalinda gasped in obvious horror, “Heavens no! You would bring us shame as a clown to the theatre, do not ever wear that unless you are performing like a loose actress or as maddening as our desperate mother,” Rosie instructed, “Here,” she handed her a tube of liquid, “Wear this on your lips, ‘ _Redrum_ ’, dollop it on your lips.”

The sisters watched as Calista gently applied the liquid lip colour across her lips, popping her mouth a few times, spreading it. The deep red settle against her skin perfectly, some pale powder on her forehead, rogue across her cheeks and mouche mark on her face, she would be prefect and complete! When she saw how perfect her lips were she cooed, “My heart please stop your beating, Jeffree Star is a bloody genius.”

Patricia snapped, “Calista, you speak looser than a sailor, cease this or you shan’t attend this dance,”

“Patricia,” she groaned and rolled her eyes as she stole the blush sponge from Rosalinda and pounded her cheeks, “even if I did not wish to attend do you truly believe our mother would let it happen? She would rail all three of us with a switch!”

Rosalinda snorted with laughter but Patricia was still filled with scorn.

“Why again are you so distained by the prospect of meeting your future husband? By the end of

the night I am sure your engagement, mine and Rosalinda’s will be set!” Patricia asked. Rosie this time rolled her eyes as well. ‘always the one to fret’ was what the two younger women would always agree on.

Patricia tapped Rosie’s shoulder after picking up a burgundy gown she had from her own room next door, “Rosalinda help me put this on.”

While Rosie gave more room, Calista slipped into her place.

“Because of that…” Calista huffed and smacked the sponge into the box, “that fellow I and Rosalinda told you about from my walk from yesterday…he asked if I was attending…I fear he may be present…”

_He will be present, he’s an honoured guest._

“That orc who insulted you?” Rosalinda laughed, pulling the strings tighter on her sisters back.

Patricia hissed, “Why? Is he a servant for the Lord Dixon? You won’t be forced to dance with him if he’s only serving us champagne.”

Rosalinda giggled at that…but Calista gulped and bit her lip before shuddering the grand confession, “….It’s because he is the Lord Jakoby.”

The room fell quiet. Her sisters faces fell in shock. Patricia though ifted back and chuckled adamant her sister was exaggerating the circumstances of her unwanted goal, “Lord Jakoby, an

Orc? Sister are your eyes like that of Old Aunt Laidee?”

“He is!” Calista snapped turning around to face her older sisters, “I do not lie!…he…he… patronised me.” _After you assume he was a servant…._

“Sister…” Rosalinda said abandoning Patricia to cup her little sisters hands, “Are you sure you wish to attend?” She whispered, “I can always help you fraud the act of illness, father would allow you to remain home.”

It sounded like the kindest gift, but mother…she wouldn’t disappoint her entirely to the extent to not attending. Other than Lord Jakoby, there was bound to be other rich men who would be present and if she saw Jakoby she could possibly apologise…she didn’t like to apologise though….

“No, I will be brave through it…”She sighed with a sad smile, “besides as I had said mother would definitely beat me should I not attend.”

“Then why is an orc even attending? Should he not know his place,” Patricia growled untying the curling cloths in her hair.

“He is Lord Jakoby,” Rosalinda quipped, “or did you not hear Calista?”

“Sister…” Calista squeezed her eyes and sighed, “not all orcs are servants.” The irony was boiling inside her, but it was something she would never mistake again.

“Might as well be as uncultured and feral as they are,” the eldest spat as she vainly smirked at herself in the mirror and fluffed up her curled hair, “They were once our enemy in the war of nine armies remember.”

Everyone knew it was Patrica and their mother who was most politically opinionated and inclined.

They often would speak to the attorneys and politicians who visited her father. Calista, Rosie, Santiago and their father however were sometimes against their values. Calista believed that as the new century would draw in soon, a new wave of freedom, rights and acceptance might come about. It was Mrs Flores and Patricia who sometimes commented with pride that the lower ‘dirtier’ races should still be bounded by slavery or a convict trial of seven years of hard labour and service before freedom…why?...because of a war none of them were apart of that happened and very, very long time ago.

Calista today would have none of it. If it was the guilt of insulting Lord Jakoby that forced her to silence her sister, she would use it and grow to better herself rather than to sink to Patricia’s level.

“Need I educate you that the war of nine armies ended nearly four thousand years ago? Or that our own nursemaid and servants were Orcs!?”

She moved away from Rosalinda and lifted her chin up, pointing out the window, Where is our enemy?”

Her oldest sister was loss for words, but a slow seething sneer grew on her lips.

Calista balled up fists into her underdress, she continued, “And Patricia, he was merely disagreeable, that does not entail that all orcs are beasty as you describe.”

Her chest was rising and falling with pants, she felt a power standing up for his name and the name for all orcs.

“Besides…must I remined you that Mother informed us at dinne, he makes twice as much as Lord

Dixon. He is the most valuable guest!”

Her sister was appalled by her behaviour but didn’t dare reply constructively as she most definitely did not have anything constructive to say….“Very well, but if he insults me or thinks to growl-”

Calista snapped frustrated with her elder sister, “He merely bruised my ego and I his!…he was rude…” she felt Rosalinda’s hand on her shoulder and slowly composed herself through gritted teeth, “I doubt he would be so nasty to you, but he is after all rich and worse,” she smiled at Rosie,

“…a male, I would not ever dream that any of us should marry him.”

Rosalinda laughed lightly but silenced when she saw Patricia’s glaring at the both of them.

Patricia was only an inch taller than Calista, yet looked like she was towering over her, “Do not brush off what you’ve just told me, what has caused him to turn his nose down to you. You must use your head, not your childish whims of romance…Calista one day you will have to grow up,

Rosalinda, Santiago, Mother, Father and I will not always be here to rope you back onto your feet.

You need a husband not a lover who drop you like a pin.”

And much like the day before she could not control her mouth, “Like Michael did to you?”

Fire spread across Calista’s cheek and pinched her ear, her sister was now redder than a tomato in the face, she was fuming from her ears. This was not the first time Calista had been slapped nor the last, but it was the most painful…

“That…that is enough _Calista_!” Patricia started to tear up and cried, she stormed out of the bedroom. Calista was frozen in please until she heard her sister slam her bedroom door.

She growled and stomped her foot, she wanted to scream from the top of her lungs and choke

Patricia and then herself for making a stupid regrettable comment twice in two days.

Rosie bit her lip and set her hands softly onto her shoulders, kindly dragging her sister over to the duchess to undo her own hair cloths, “….come now…Calista please, she is worried for your future, you know this,” Rosie assured.

“She should not think it is her right to school me on that matter due to her own mistakes!” Calista whined, “She believes that any man or elf I fancy is Michael, I understand!”

She started to powder her forehead with white powder and grumbled, “But it is worse to have a distaste for an Orc merely for a foul single encounter I had with him and then she berates me for not throwing myself at him because he is with a great fortune?” She rolled her eyes and sighed,

“...she is so infuriating and filled with hypocrisy!”

Her older sister shook her own head slowly and smiled, “You’re still going to find a husband Calista whether tonight or in ten years, why let her words get to you?” _Always the peacemaker._

“Because sister,” She replied painfully, “I don’t appreciate her questioning my morals and maturity, I am a spinster, but I am a happy and proud one. It is silly to throw yourself to a man and then…” She saw how she was staring at her through the mirror with a unimpressed press of her lips together.

“Rosie, I would prefer you should marry again than for me to ever marry ever,” she moaned.

“But, Callie…I would wish…” She gently brushed Calista’s hair and shrugged, “I should so much like…to marry for love again, I know what happened was…my babies god rest their souls…and I married for love then…but I would love to marry for love again because it was what brought true joy….”

“And so you shall! I’m sure,” Callie interrupted before Rosalinda could talk of a loveless rich marriage and make it sound better, she joked, “Only, take care you fall in love with a man of good fortune.”

“Well, I shall try…to please you and not Mother,” She said as she tucked into her hair pearl hairpins, “And you, will you marry for love or money? Or are you as dry as Patricia?”

“I am determined that nothing but the very deepest love will induce me into matrimony,” She sighed and joked some more, “As that will never happen, I shall end an old maid, and teach your future ten children to embroider cushions, and play their instruments very ill.”

Rosalinda cackled and smacked her sister on her head lightly unlike the punishing slap Patricia had given her. She cuddled her sister and then her face fell neutral, “You do know despite Patricia’s cruelty, she does have a point,” Rosie dared, keeping her eyes on her to the mirror watching as Calistas face started to coldly glare at her, “You shouldn’t brush off the actions of Lord Jakoby, with wealth there is power, could you imagine the things he could say about you?”

Pushing her sister off she reached for the etching pencil and drew two stars above her left brow, a sign of great dignity and refinement…A sign for Lord Jakoby alone. Her heart was pounding with fiery revenge mixed with spite. Let them see, let them all see who Calista Maria Flores truly was… a girl who was not a girl who was not also a woman…a beautiful refined creature

“I’m not brushing it off,” she retorted, “I am aware of the consequences….but remember what you said…who cares what an Orc says?”

Tonight she would let them all see her true self!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I keep making characters so hypocritical of themselves.
> 
> Please have a glass of milk with this kitty to make life feel a little better.  
> 


	3. An ill favoured person and ill favoured orc at that!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calista holds herself together and notices the oddity in Lord Jakoby's step...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stole LOTS OF SCRIPT FROM PRIDE AND PREJUDICE!! Sorry...not sorry...

# CHAPTER 3

* * *

**_1799, Friday, 5th, April_ **

Mrs Flores was excited clearly by the way her wrinkled smile touched up to her eyes and her nose drew slightly up…Calista knew her mother had been very beautiful when she was young and that is what possibly drew her father in, but now it was Calista’s turn to ‘reel’ in the fortune .

Her mother was not happy with the gown choice Calista had made, much like her sister who said it was dull, her mother was grumbling on how plain it was. Mrs Flores however then commented that she was the most beautiful other than Rosalinda.

They rode in the carriage up the road to the Dixon Estate because, “A true lady never walks to another’s home without honest transport.”

When the carriage rolled onto the grounds, Calista held her breath. She felt ice cold, she hoped with every ounce in her body that Lord Jakoby would not be present, she knew he would but she could hope. She could hope that even if he was in attendance he would not see or acknowledge her. If he did she would make sure to regret his choice of words commentary on her refinement.

As they stopped and slipped from the carriage an Brezzik maid was waiting for them, she led them inside, her scaly tail lazily waving behind her.

The brezzik servant directed the Flores family into a massive bare room, other guests who had arrived earlier were fluttering about, talking and smiling.

Aunt Laidee was lying across the chaise lounge in the corner of the room, a glass of wine in one hand and a fan of ostrich plumes in the other. Her neck, ears and gloved hands were dripping with diamonds. Calista could hear the slight scoff her Mother made at seeing her. Mother always made a point that her older sister was ugly beyond compare to a donkey’s arse, but she managed to marry rich. When father was not around she had once commented that if she was not the youngest daughter of her family, she would’ve been the one Lord Sanchez proposed to instead as they shared ‘moments’ of passion…instead she got a tradesmen to her disappointment and was forced to accept.

Now Mrs Flores was in a tight ship. Two daughters with vicious scandals, she had to rely on Aunt Laidee for social connections if she ever wanted to marry them off and be rid of them once more. The dowry money was only left for Calista…and it still wasn’t much.

“Sister!” Aunt Laidee called from her lounge, “Come here, I have much to tell you.”

Mrs Flores sighed and put on an uneasy smile, wandering over to Lady Sanchez.

Calista felt Rosalinda’s lips press to her ear and whisper, “If we are ever like that, please smother me in my sleep.”

The two bursted into laughter and floated arm in arm across the other side of the room to the punch bowls and raisin treats.

“I fear the future embodiment of Patricia over you Rosie,” Calista snickered, taking a poured glass from the table and handing her sister one. Rosalinda was no longer looking at her, her gaze was set on their little brother.

The two sisters grinned. He was already standing beside a young elvish girl, whose father was the minister of the church. Her white hair was in bouncy curls, the tips of her ears poking out. Her dimples and smile was wide as she laughed to the Flores heir. He was smoothing his fingers through his hair and lifted his chest a bit higher. Calista would have betted that he even deepened his voice for the girl.

“Did you know Santi has been trying to write a sonnet about Paola,” Rosalinda hummed, “…I think he is going to tell her tonight.”

“What?” Calista asked mockingly, “That he’s in love with her or that he admires ‘ _her lilac eyes and her snow dew skin’_?”

Despite their teasing, they loved Santiago’s romantic attempts, they as sisters were proud to have encouraged his reading in women’s romance novels. It gave him a chance to see the feminine aspect on the opposite sex. His love was not wicked, he did love her, the sisters knew it- they played as children for years and once Santiago’s voice lost its pubescent squeaks…they came closer together. Calista had not told Rosalinda or Santiago this, but she once when she was fifteen, she caught the two briefly kiss behind the church. After years of playing pirates and princesses, the two were made for each other.

Santiago took the girls hand and tugged them towards a piano forte and danced with four other guests.

“Dearie me and speaking of _love_ ,” Calista hissed and drunk down the rest of the punch, her eyes scanned the room and other ladies and lords, “Where o’ where doth art our _handsome_ hosts?”

“Yes, do you see our,” Rosalinda touched her gloved hand to her sister’s shoulder, “… _infamous_ … Lord Orc anywhere?”

The two girls bobbed their heads up and down looking around the ball room until Calista let loose a horrified gasp, “….oh god…”

Her sister’s hair flew over her shoulders, “Where!” Rosalinda teased, “Where?”

“There,” Calista gulped, her fingers pointing forward, hiding slightly behind her sister, “By the French doors.” 

There in the door way was four individuals. Two women with flat faces and oily black hair, a handsome man with hair combed back into a black poinytail and an orc…the orc who held a cane tightly by his side from yesterday. His face was neutral and his ears twitched, he stood with a puffed chest like he had when he belittled her.

Rosalinda leant her head back and whispered, “Our orc friend…you did not tell me is…very handsome…he doesn’t have tusks…is he a half-breed?”

Her sister turned her back and faced to fill more punch, her fingers felt shaky, her heart was beating fast. Could she face him? The embarrassment from the day previous was all falling back onto her. She could hear his voice fill her head again.

“I…I don’t know…I don’t believe so,” she murmured into the glass, “his skin is too defined.”

Mrs Flores was frantic as she travelled to them, tears in the corners of her eyes, handkerchief pressed to her dark brown lips. Her other hand sat heavy on her lacy cap.

“Girls! Calista,” she whimpered, almost running into Rosalinda, “Oh my dear child I am so sorry.”

“Mother,” Calista soothed, touched her mother’s cheek, “What is wrong?”

Her mother stole Calista’s cup and like a drunk, she downed it in one gulp, “Lord Jakoby,” She choked, her eyes flickering to the French doors, “he is an orc, your cruel Aunt thought it was a-amusing to withhold this from me.”

Rosalinda and Calista looked at each other and held back their smiles before looking back to their distressed mother.

“Darling please forgive me for expecting you to marry him.”

Rose soothingly rubbed her back, “But mother what of that ten thousand a year?”

Calista finally lifted her gaze over and noticed that her father of all people was speaking to Lord Dixon and…Lord Jakoby…who smiled? But as soon as he saw her, it was a stab to the gut to see his smile turn into a scowl. Her eyes burned with a glare right back at him, her nose lifted and turned away back to her whining mother.

“You are correct Rosalinda, a fine investment,” Her worrying lip trembled, “but to subject you to such a beast…” she inhaled, “I feel like Abraham sacrificing Isaac.”

“Mother,” Calista gripped her fingers, “he is an Orc, _not_ a monster.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her daughter, so unsure and unaware of her Calista. She turned round and shrieked, “Oh Calista, oh! Lord, they’re coming over. Smile, girls, smile!”  
  


When Calista and Rosalinda looked back they noticed how the two males were being led by their dear father, he winked to their mother and greeted her with a kiss to her hand, “Darling, Lord Dixon has expressed a wish to become acquainted with you and our daughters personally.”

Lord Dixon was smiling widely and incredibly infatuated with the sight of Rosalinda. Lord Jakoby…was barely looking at them and standing stiffly.

“Sir, that is very good of you,” Mrs Flores spread her uneasy smile and curtsied, her daughters following her actions. Lord Dixon bowed his head and rested his hand solemnly to his chest.

She lifted her own hand gestured to the girls behind her, “This is Rosalinda, my second eldest. And Calista here is my youngest daughter, my eldest daughter Patricia is with my sister Lady Sanchez. And Santiago my youngest is over there dancing with the Minister’s daughter. Do you like to dance yourself?”

Lord Dixon was barely listening as he stared at Rosalinda, he stuttered when he realised Mrs Flores had stopped talking. His lashes fluttered and a pink colour spread into his cheeks. Calista thought he looked like a little boy…the same look Santiago had whenever he looked at Paola.  
  
“There is nothing I love better, Madam,” he cleared his throat and smoothed down his moustache, “And if Miss Rosalinda Flores is not otherwise engaged? May I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?”

Her widowed sister smiled to the floor shyly and softly answered for herself before their boisterous mother could, “I am not engaged, sir.”  
  
“G-Good!” His eyes widened, his lips and tongue where sputtering, “I mean splendid, well…” he swallowed hard, Calista smiled at this stumbling Lord, “if you were, your fiancé would be a most lucky creature.”

 _If only he knew…she had been once…but her fiancé and children were not lucky…_ _snow….carriage and then…crash followed by blood curdling screams falling into nothing but utter bone chilling silence…  
  
_

Mrs Flores leant back and happily slipped her handkerchief into her apron pocket, almost shoving her daughter forward into Lord Dixon, “You do us great honour, sir. Thank the gentleman, Rosalinda.”

The group stood in a slight awkward silence until the matriarch took control.

“And you…sir?” Her mother bravely spoke to Jakoby, a slight nerve on her tongue, “Are you fond of dancing, too?”

Lord Dixon realised he needed to step up, he cleared his throat again and smiled, he gestured his hand to the orc behind him, “Oh, I beg your pardon. Mrs Flores, may I present my friend, Lord Nicholas Jakoby.”

He still did not make an acknowledgement to them besides his blank expression and yellow eyes that were not meeting any of theirs.  
  
“You and your kind are very welcome to our shire, I am sure, sir,” their mother was now forcing a smile, she clapped her hands, “And I hope you have come here eager to dance, as your friend has.”  
  
He finally exhaled and was blunt speaking to Mrs Flores, “Thank you, Madam, I rarely dance,” he tapped his cane against the floor.

Calista glanced down, she hadn’t even thought of his cane. She thought he was using it like every gentleman did to evoke their masculinity or wealthy status. He in fact, was leaning his weight onto his left leg and walking cane. A discreet injury…  
  
“Well,” Her mother not taking his hints pressed on, “let this be one of the occasions to try the le boulanger, do your kind not know it sir? For I wager you’ll not easily find such lively music, or such pretty partners in our lands.”

Calista wanted to groan, if only her mother realised she was stepping now into hot water and stupidly unaware.

Lord Jakoby smirked and gripped his cane tighter, his knuckles cracked loudly, his voice was strained, “ _My kind_ are very well aware of the le boulanger Madam as we _invented_ it…Dancing overall, it is a skill I am lacking I…have always lacked and even with the desire to I struggle with my leg. And for pretty partners I am afraid your lands are…” his eyes glared at Calista, “lacking with _refinements_.”

If she were not a woman, if she were not a woman at the ball, if she was not the daughter of the Flores, she would have swung her fist into his big, fat, stuck up, orc nose. She bit her tongue to not make the same mistake she did the day previous.

He swept an unimpressed gaze across her mother and then back to her, finally to her father... and twisted away to walk off to the fire place mantel in the centre of the right wall.

Lord Dixon desperately looked back to the Flores, an apology in his eyes to Rosalinda, the pair smiled embarrassed, “M-may I have the dance Miss Flores? It must be beginning, we can join them if we glide over now,” but happily arm in arm and wandered to piano where others like their brother were practising the country dance.

Once Dixon was out of ear shot her mother spun to her father, she “Well Mr Flores! Have you ever meet such a proud, disagreeable creature!?”  
  
Calista tightened her hold on her mother’s wrists and hissed desperately, “Mother please hush, he will hear you.”  
  
“I don’t care if he does!” She scoffed smacking her hand away. She left Mr Flores’ side to drink some punch, “And his friend disposed to be so agreeable, and everything charming,” she gulped the tropic flavour, “Who is he to think himself so far above his species status?”  
  
Before Calista snapped, her father stood between the women and soothed his opinionated wife, “Well, the very rich can afford to give offence wherever they go dearest. We need not care for his good opinion.”  
  
“No, indeed,” she smacked her lips and tears sprung through her dark eyes again, “But oh Calista, your unkind Aunt Laidee said he was so very handsome.”

As if on cue, Aunt Laidee’s cackled was heard from the chaise she still sat on with her snooty niece sitting beside and listening intently to…

Patricia would definitely be like Aunt Laidee, there was no doubt or need to worry for Rosalinda; the two younger girls would always be of sound mind, but their older sister had always been doomed to turn rotten and entitled.

  
“Perhaps he’s not so very handsome, after all then?” Calista sighed, she moved away to sit in the corner of the room, the one thing she had looked forward to all day.

Her mother hadn’t even noticed her departure and continued yacking her dislikes, “No, indeed, quite an ill favoured person and ill favoured orc at that. Certainly nothing at all compared to Mr Dixon.”

Calista stared off after the Orc and snorted, of course he would be so pig headed and prideful, he was rich, he was an orc and she had called him a servant...She merely needed to avoid him forever and let him walk with his stick alone and miserable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MILK DRINK THE MILK YOU PATIENT PEOPLE!! <3  
>   
> NEXT CHAPTER WE WILL HAVE A TASTY SERVING OF CONFRONTATION!! HEHEHE!!!!!


	4. Frighten me with your contempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brother and sister observe the tragic heart of Rosalinda and Lord Dixon.
> 
> Jakoby is filled with spite and refuses to dance again...
> 
> Calista loses a glove and gains an irritable partner.

# CHAPTER 4

* * *

**_1799, Friday, 5th, April_ **

An hour had past and she had successfully hid in the corner with only a few people to pass and talk to her. She happily went unnoticed by the Orc or her mother. Her brother had danced with Miss Poala for three times already and Rosalinda had only had Lord Dixon as a dance partner and she had danced with him five times, the two had been giggling and talking all evening. Dixon however seem to drink with her and it started to become obvious he was not a drinker…he drink merely to impress Rosalinda who was not affected by the drop…

_Lord knows she was drinking after the funerals…_

Her brother saw her and left his sweetheart to accompany his happy, lonely sister. He took a seat beside her and kissed her hand affectionately, tendrils of raven locks battered his forehead, springing loose from their father’s hair wax. The two smiled and viewed the party from their seats.

The looked at their sister and Lord Dixon standing beside the fireplace mantel, talking and smiling so gayly with eachother. Calista felt her brother fidget in his seat and leaned to his sister’s ear.

“I see that our Lord Dixon continues dashing attentions to our beloved Rosalinda, and you yet sit here alone sister?”  
  
She smiled and sighed pleasingly, “I am very happy for her Santiago, this gives her a new start.”  
  
Her brother was young when the incidence occurred and was usually shut out by his sisters and their scandals, but when his nephew and niece died, when his other nephew…was sent away, he knew terrible things had happened and knew that for now his ignorance was bliss.

He patted her hand, “Yes, she does seem very well pleased with him, does she not? I have not seen such a smile like that since…well since I was a boy.”  
  
Calista couldn’t agree more. She had been so soft and shy since her return to the Flores household, before she married she was naughty and filled with adventure, always covered in a grin….that grin…the one that made her gums show had returned.

Though, her sister was not the only one to have caught her eye, she looked at Lord Dixon, who sounded incredibly intimidating for his title yet now subdued into the spirit of a happy boy.

“I think if he continues so, she is in a fair way to be very much in love with him…and he is most adamantly in love with her.”

Santiago gasped himself and sat back into his chair as the gossip was passed back and forth. He flickered two fingers to his chin, “And Lord Dixon? So you believe he is in love with darling Rosalinda?”

Their sister was now speaking and swiped his coat of a tray piece of string and giggled at how he was fingering through the ringlet framing her face. He plucked a white rose from the mantel piece and handed it too her. So far away and unable to hear them Calista knew she would be happily interrogating her sister on their private conversation.

Calista nodded firmly once, “Indeed brother, for it is clear that he likes her very much. Have you noticed how he stands? The blush in his cheeks and the light widening in his eyes and smile ever so often?”

Her brother observed her findings and studied the pair before expressing his opinion, “Then she should leave him in no doubt of her love from now one. Her affections for him should be verbally and physically increased, more than she even feels and not a slight less, if she is to secure him as her husband.”

She scoffed with shock of her brothers findings. Laughing slightly with minor appal, “Secure him, brother mine?”

“Indeed,” he playfully smacked her hand, “She must as soon as every second passes, lest she accidentally loses him.”

“Brother did we not raise you well?!” she continued to scold him playfully, “You imply she should have him trail behind her without her being honest and sure of his true character, better yet before she is even certain of her own regard for him?”  
  


Her brother than told her something she found astonishing and wise beyond his years, “Sister dear, my knowledge you and the others have passed to me over these years are exactly why I pass these words beyond my lips and through my honest heart. Reality is constantly lost and all but abandoned through those romanticised fairytales. You see mother and father, yes?” he asked and pointed to the two who were sitting with Patricia and Aunt Laidee, “Happiness within every marriage is entirely a matter of choice and perception. There will always be vexation, damnation, persecution, and finally grief no matter how madly in love and passionate you feel for your partner; and in mother’s wise words as batty as she can be sometimes; it is better to know in advance as absolutely as little as possible of the future misfortunes and disagreements of your marriage partner, or else your life shall be an endless reign of boredom!”  
  
Calista shook her head and wanted to explain the difficulty for women to engage men, especially their poor widowed sister, but before she could try her brother sternly tapped her hand.

“Is it not true?” He asked, his eyes settled on the minister’s daughter.

“It is not sound,” her sister warned, noting how he was being hypocritical to himself and his blossoming love for Poala, “You would never act like that yourself.”

“Well, it seems that Rosalinda will not. So… we must hope that Mr Dixon will,” her brother than laughed, “Though it would seem he receives little encouragement from his sisters.”

“Indeed, look there,” she criticised, the two Dixon girls were terribly ugly, rich and snooty. The pair, twins, looked down at everyone they saw or walked passed them. Their eyes were small and beady, their teeth yellow and their makeup did nothing to conceal their small pox scars on their flat faces. They didn’t try to hide any disdain they had for this evening. Calista believed they should’ve stayed back where they came from. 

Santiago shivered playfully to exaggerate his disgust. “Oh dear and his companion orc, Lord Jakoby seems not too invested in the festivities himself…” he jerked his head to the french doors where the orc stood nearby, ready to hobble away to his freedom at any given time, “I think you two would make a wonderous lonely pair.”

She choked and listened to her brothers mean chuckles. She squeezed his hand tighter, and flicked his forehead, “Yes! But then we would not be lonely if we were a pair.”

“Quite right,” Her brother bit his lip and snickered, “Yet you mirror his expression as of late.”

Santiago giggled when he saw his sister’s nose flare.

“Santiago,” she stomped on his foot, pressing a little groan and hiss from her brother but didn’t lessen his humour, “if you are asking for a whipping from me,” she warned, “wait until we get home!”

He shook his head and pressed his lips swiftly against her temple, “Whatever ill thoughts you harbour against him, he may not harbour against you,” his sister gazed at him with caution, he nodded, “You see I have noticed that Lord Jakoby has looked at you a great deal this evening, Calista.”

He was looking at her? Was he hungry to insult her some more? Was it because of her mother’s behaviour? How could one incident mark her a villain forever?! It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t noticed thankfully first hand as she most successfully avoided her. Lord Jakoby was acting disagreeable and ever the most disgusted guest, with even more disdain than the Dixon sisters.

His older sister murmured, “I cannot think why,” she smiled playfully, “Unless he means to frighten me with his contempt,” a little snort escaped her nose, “I wish he would not come into society. He seems to only make people uneasy.”

Her brother this time did not laugh…he frown at her and shrugged before he could say another thing to his sister, Poala came skipping along to his side and tugged at his coat and slipping a ringlet behind her pointed ear, “Santiago, come dance with me again, please!”

Her brother kissed Calista’s hand as he departed and slowly rose from the chair, “Of course Poala.”

* * *

Now Calista was back to sitting alone, She continued to watch the party of elves, humans and even a displeased Orc. Removing her gloves, she twisted the fabric between her fingers anxiously, noticing that a particular orc was on the move across the room to the table treats. Calista wondered if he would help himself to the punch. He sneered at the beef cuts and only found interest in the chicken quiche.

From the corner of her eyes she noticed how the cold Lord Nick Jakoby with a deep frown on his lips now stood only fifteen feet away from her, his back turned to her slightly. He was as stiff as a door. The only Orc here other than the servants. Despite her dislike of him greatly he was still the finest orc…the finest male creature in the room she did muse to herself, if only he would lessen his obvious disagreement with the room and those who were dancing.

His partner, brother in arms came swaying to him laughing his head off, embarrassing the good name of Dixon. He clapped his hand across his friends back and roared with joy, _possibly someone who has had too much of the fine champagne…._

“Come, Jakoby,” Dixon laughed, “I must have you dance! I must! I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner,” He jabbed his finger into his friend’s chest, “Come, you’d much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not,” Jakoby grunted, shifting his stand straight, and puff out his large chest while his poor drunken companion leant against him, “In an assembly such as this?” he chuckled with a mean smile and shook his head, “It would be insupportable.”

“Your sisters dear Daryll, are engaged at present,” The two men looked on at the current elven men dancing with the two mildly attractive women, “You know perfectly well it would be a punishment-“ he sighed and rolled his eyes to the man, “for me to stand up with any other woman in the room.”

“Good God, Jakoby,” he exclaimed to the orc with giggling appal, “I wouldn’t be as fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honour-hic!” he yelled happily, “I never met so many pleasant girls in my life!!”

Calista looked over the room and realised that no one but her seemed to pay them mind, everyone was everso selfishly caught in their own world it would seem…but still such behaviour in Calista’s eyes was immature and disgraceful, and it would be better if his orc friend merely dragged himself and Lord Dixon away all together. She rolled her eyes, but entertained herself further, listening to the conversating gentlemen everyone including her strickened mother and overwhelming sister gossiped about.

“And several of them uncommonly pretty,” Dixon wiped his mouth and sighed, “eh?”

Jakoby glanced over the room, eyes seeking out a single ‘pretty’ item among the women. He tapped his cane on the flooring once, pointing to the figure of her sister Rose who was currently smiling at Lord Dixon like a love weighted idiot…“You have been dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.”

“Jakoby, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld,” Daryll declared and also searched for anything to compare to her gorgeous sister, “Look, look…there’s one of her sisters.”

Calista twisted her head away, her heart pounded. From the corner of her eyes she witnessed the pointing finger of Dixon aimed at her in her chair. She twisted her glove in her hand tightly. She bit her lip and shut her eyes, she could feel the dark gaze of Lord Jakoby, burning the hair on her neck. She wished she had the courage to speak up and call upon his foul look, but what depressing disappointment would she feel to have made a fool of herself later?

“She’s very pretty, too.” The man chuckled, “I daresay, very agreeable.”

The orc grunted again with more annoyed disagreement, “She is tolerable, I suppose,” he chuffed, “but she’s not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Calista almost choked on her own breath, she couldn’t explain how humiliated she felt…an orc…would comment on her beauty and show distain? But why does an Orcs opinion matter so much to her? What did she even care? She was not so vain to show care for what others might see her, as most always she was a pretty and pleasing sight even to elves…but not to the Lord Jakoby the rich Orc? He already commented on her refinements and now he attacked her appearance overall. She wanted to smack his tuskless mouth ever so!

Said Orc found sudden immense fascination with a loose thread on his coat cuff, “Dixon, I’m in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other males.” He patted his friend on his back softly and encouraged with his cane, “Go back to your partner Miss Flores, enjoy her smiles.”

The final straw to her hastened departure to the gardens was drawn as she found Lord Jakoby sneering her way with a hateful glare while he spoke to his friend, “You’re wasting your time with me, there is nothing but children in petticoats among us.”

While Dixon left diminished by his friend off to be comforted by her sister’s humour, Calista rose to her feet and glided to the French doors…shoving her shoulder past the Orc and his prideful cane unkindly. She did not stop to apologise or to realise she had accidentally dropped a glove.

Her nose lifted to the air and her eyes narrowed at the orc with scorn.

As she walked out of the French doors and onto the stone patio, Calista was finally away from the sounds of the party and the on looking looks from others. She sat by the window so she could at least observe her happy sister Rosalinda and her dance partner. The cold night air breezed through her neck, forcing a shiver from her.

* * *

Inside Lord Jakoby had sent his friend back to his partner, just as a hard mass knocked into him unkindly. He hissed as the moving object caught his cane and bad leg. He held back a nasty growl. When he turned to see the cause, he saw her. The impudent girl from the day before. Calista Flores…an ill minded girl. A brat. He chuffed to himself, and took a step forward to instigate after her as she escaped outside. But his cane glided softly across the floor unusually.

Looking to his feet he found a piece of white fabric beneath his cane foot.

Slowly bending down, he collected it and found that the scent was potent of Miss Flores…she had dropped it as she passed him…

When he fought in France, this was a message to initiate a sexual rendezvous, but he doubted very much that this was the intention of Miss Flores, just an innocent but rude girl who had accidentally unbeknownst dropped her glove.

He held it tight and just as he was going to follow to return this possession….another Flores girl approached him from behind.

Patricia Flores who smelt like attitude and Lady Sanchez purred to him, “What a charming amusement for young people this is, Lord Jakoby? Nothing like dancing, you know. One of the many refinements of every polished society.”

He licked his teeth and over the filed tusks, he sneered at her hoping she would go back to her wit of a mother, “And every unpolished society.”

“My Lord?” she laughed uneasily, “Your meaning escapes me,” her fingers bunched her dark red skirt.

“Every savage can dance,” Jakoby seethed, lifting up his cane to her, now he hoped she would understand he would not in anyway dance with her, “but a wound dog cannot Miss Flores.”  
  
“Oh…” Patricia looked at it with revolt and hesitant eyes, “yes…quite?” Lord Jakoby smiled internally. Clearly she had regretted her intentions greatly, and this please the orc greatly in turn.

* * *

Still out in the cold, Calista realised she was missing her right glove, she hissed hoping she hadn’t lost it forever. When she looked from the window she saw a stunning and unpleasant sight. Her oldest sister was foolishly prancing around Lord Jakoby, whispering into his ear and chatting to him without care of his expressions and non-verbal messages.

Oh god, she paled, she knew she had to stop this, “I think I should speak to my sister before she exposes us all to ridicule,” she grumbled to herself and came stepping into the ballroom straight to the awkward pair.

As she came closer, she noticed that in his other hand clenching was a woman’s glove, her glove!  
  
Patricia was the first to notice her presence and smirked with evil devices, “Ah, lo, Lord Jakoby, this is my youngest sister. Little Calista, why are you not dancing?”

Callie glared at her with hellfire, her face was pink with embarrassment of her oldest sibling. She warned her with her eyes to be silent and to leave the air she had so dirtily spread. Her head slowly shook, her lips softly mouthing, “no”.

Her sister did not listen and carried on, flicking her hair to the side and harshly digging her nails into her sisters naked wrist, tugging her closer, “Lord Jakoby, you cannot refuse a dance with a most desirable partner such as my sister, for I am sure, there is none dancing with so much beauty that is before you now.”

Calista knew Patricia did not think her beautiful, but this was a wicked plot to drag her closer to the dreadful orc. She would scream at her if she could. Instead she composed herself. Now was the opportunity to prove her refinements, that his words were incorrect in calling her ‘tolerable’.

She pursed her lips and exhaled, “Indeed, sister, I have not the least intention of dancing. Please do not suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a…tolerable partner.”

She just wanted her sister and her glove back.

Lord Jakoby though…had other plans, he cleared his throat and swapped her glove into his cane hand to lift up and offer his hand to her, she noticed the slight smirk on his lips with his eyes staring at her naked hand, “I would be very happy if you would do me the honour of walking the Dixon garden, as I cannot dance with you, Miss Flores. Lord Dixon recently installed his garden with lamp posts and had them relit an hour ago.”

Taking a wary step back, Calista stuttered, “I-I Thank you, yet I- but- excuse me, I-I am not inclined to…walking.”

Total and utter bullshi-

Her sister sinisterly cackled, “Come, come, why not? You walk practically everyday! When you see Lord Jakoby has no objection, although he dislikes the amusement here so much in general you must accept!”

“Patricia please I-” Calista started, she looked at Lord Jakoby one more time and sighed, the faster she accepted, the faster this awkward conversation could end…or begin another one.

“Lord Jakoby, thankyou for your offer,” She tore her wrist away from her mean sister and slipped it into the Orc’s awaiting arm, “shall we?”

His ears flicked up, “Indeed, let’s.”

He strode with his stick and a Flores daughter out through the French doors. Patricia turned around and smiled at her mother…the plan worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MILK MILK MILK DRINK YO MILK GET THAT CALCIUM UP!!!!


	5. The stars meant dignity, but Calista felt nothing like that anymore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakoby and Calista take a walk, have a talk, and have a...little passion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read if you dare!!

# CHAPTER 5

* * *

**_1799, Friday, 5th, April_ **

The gradually walked down the steps into the garden path that Lord Dixon had erected. The lamps shone brightly over the pair as the stepped along together. The orc and young woman had not said a work to another for two whole minutes. She admired the arrangements of the flowers but there was nothing spectacular about this garden. The clicking of his cane clacked beside them as the Orc and her moved forward and around the scenery.

Finally, the lack of verbal conversation hurt her enough that she intervened, there had to be a way to get her glove back without just outright asking for it? She also saw this as an opportune moment to fully address their mishappenings from the previous day.

“I believe I can guess your thoughts at this moment, Lord Jakoby,” she hummed.

She heard him grunt back, “I should imagine not.”

After rolling her eyes briefly she stopped them walking for a moment, his pace steady and his stick settled. She wanted her glove back, her arm was cold. She untangled herself from his arm and lifted her hand up to the windows of the mansion that showed the party, she smiled mockingly, “You are thinking how insupportable it would be to spend many evenings in such tedious company and those lacking in _refinement_?”

He smirked and shook his head, tapping his cane, “No, indeed, my mind has more become agreeably engaged.”

Calista’s brows rose and her eyes widened, she did not expect him to say that. She thought he would agree grouchily. When Lord Jakoby saw her amusement and shock he sought it fit to expand his thoughts.

He confessed, “I have been meditating on the very great pleasure, which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

She gawked and looked at the window…who had made him feel so pleased? He had been miserable all evening. She narrowed it down to Dixon’s sisters or Rosalinda. She squeezed her eyes hard and quickly prayed under her breath that it wasn’t Rosalinda, ‘the most handsome girl in the room’. She could not bare the thought of Lord Jakoby have a sudden fascination with her sister. And very awful pairing, no she would rather Dixon have Rosalinda. She licked her lips and turned her eyes to the grass and cabbages by her feet.

“And…and may one dare ask whose are the eyes that inspired these reflections?”

He gestured forward and kept walking with her by his side.

Jakoby didn’t wait a single moment more before he answered, “Yours.”

She gasped. Her hand slapped to her lips. Yours? Hers? her eyes? The girl that looked like tha cause of all his discomfort brought him this feeling? The girl he belittled and insulted….

She choked, “I am all astonishment my Lord.”

Fireflies dance around them, crickets whispering beneath the leaves of the flowers they passed.

He smiled and asked, “And why is that Miss Flores?”

They rounded back and made their way slowly to a stone fountain.

“Why do you think?” She snorted, “Yesterday you said I lacked refinement and I heard your suggested to Lord Dixon that I am not tempting.”

Jakoby would’ve called her out on listening into his words he shared privately but he would not deny his opinions of her. It did make him smile when she seemed to be so frustrated by it. He clearly took pleasure from it, thought Calista. Her face turned to him, her eyes scornful and lips pouting.

“Well,” he cleared his throat before lifting his chin, “That is because you do lack refinement; that I am certain of now as I was yesterday. Miss Flores, it would seem as though you wish you were tempting to me?”

Without thinking again she muttered crossing her arms, “Because I am tempting to man, elf and all other creatures including your kind,” her nose picked up and a small ‘hurumph’ picked out of her tightly held lips. The reached the fountain, the water was roaring around them and as she looked in her dark reflection she saw the ripples make blurry lines over her. How could he not find her appealing?

His cheeks bubbled, curling his lips in before letting out a small chuckle, “Matters upon what a person would find tempting,” his fingers brushed her cheek softly, “Don’t you think?”

Her attention was dragged from the water, and focussed sharply on his fingers. Stepping away slightly. It was appropriate for him to touch her like that…why did he touch her like that!? Has he no propriety or respect for her or himself at all!?

She snapped at him, tapping his outreached hand away, “You are saying I am not beautiful,” She spat, “I’ll have you know, us Flores women are the most beautiful of the shire in comparison to humans and elves.”

He hummed acknowledging her while his piercing yellow eyes glowed through the dark of the night, they were like a wild cats, if he had tusks she know she would’ve been ten times more threatened. She bit her lip and walked around the fountain in a circle with him walking beside her, her glove still in his tight, large, blue hand.

“I never said you were not beautiful, nor did I say you were,” He chuffed, “I said you had a pretty face and fine eyes Miss Flores, your vanity blocks your ears, I simply said you were not enough to tempt me.”

She crossed her arms as she walked and squawked in response, “There is no difference sir!”

“Ah but Miss Flores,” he gently grasp her bare wrist, his massive thumb glided over her pulse, “there is,” He calmly replied as he smelt the floral perfume she wore.

Calista waited for him to continue, but when he did not she sputtered and ripped her wrist back to herself, “An-and will you not tell me?”

“No…no,” he chuckled, looking away from her to see the party inside, the French doors were closing up, “You would still lack understanding even if I should explain it to you,” Lord Jakoby sighed.

Ugh! She finally had her fill of Lord Jakoby for yet another day. She pushed him aside, “How dare you,” She growled and turned her back to march back inside. His hand clamped down onto her hand and wrist tugging her back.

She stumbled slightly and landed into his chest, her soft chest pressed hotly against him. She peered up and saw the glow in his eyes again.

He snorted with a smirk, “How dare I?”

“Yes!” she shrieked and stomped her foot pushing him away again and tearing his big hand off her, “You have painted my character as some uneducated driggle-draggle fustylug purely on a simple mistake that I had made on your status you so abuse! You lack forgiveness and patience to those who would hope to better themselves!”

He smiled at the ground and calmly asked, “Is that all? Have you finished?”

She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, demurely she bowed her head, “Yes.”

The calm before the storm it would seem…she should have ran back instead of marched.

His fat finger jabbed into her face, his body towered over hers as he wobbled forward on his cane, “Then let me inform you Miss Flores, I do not label you, because I seek out to know you and your family ever since I moved to this little puddle shire of shit!”

She gasped at his foul language, but shut up quickly as he continued his brutal commentary. Her knees felt somewhat weak. She was like a baby deer facing off the mean bear.

“I know well enough of _reputations_ your family have made and I would be confident as I claim you to be lacking in refinement and knowledge as you know little of nothing beyond a stone wall and a weeping mother,” he seethed, spittle flicking over her cheek, “My kind, as pig faced, cow skinned, horse shit shovelling we are, we will always hold more refinement than you ever could.” He grasped her shoulders and shoved her to the fountain again, “Now Sit.”

“P-pardon me?” she whispered.

He growled deeply, “Sit!”

And so she sat, the stone cold even against her clothed bottom. She was freezing and shivering, yet the shivering was not caused alone by the low temperatures of the Dixon night garden.

“I shall cry for help sir,” she flinched and held her hands up, cowering from him, “Should you think to come near me viscously.”

He rolled his eyes and almost yelled at her, she wondered if the party could hear them, but hearing their distant laughter and seeing the French doors closed back up it was obvious they could not…

“Do you not hear yourself you idiot girl!” he rubbed his bald head and growled, “You think I would harm you as I was born an orc?” he lifted his cane accusingly at her, “It still has not crossed your mind that-”

Her hand smacked his stick away from, she stood from the stone marble and stood on her toes as she pressed against him, attempting to push him away with the little intimidation she possessed.

“You sir have offended me in every conceivable manner,” she screamed, tears budding in the corners of her eyes, “I do not presume you would harm me on the bases of your species, I had concurred the suspension from your tone, rough handling and constant belittling. You claim I lack refinement as I made a mistake and misjudged your character as an accident, yet you do the very same yourself to me and my kin with intention! I hope you are stricken with great misfortune as I cannot breathe in your presence without disgust on your face!”

Once again she walked around him and called over her shoulder, “Good evening Lord Jakoby.”

….but when he caught her like a dog to a rabbit, when she was dragged back harsher than before her face smashed into his. His strong hand grasped her small skull forcing her up and touch his lips. He was bending down slightly, his tongue slipping and flicking into her gums.

She felt bile rise in her.

He hissed, when her little fist met his yellow eye. He hadn’t expected her to punch him. He sputtered back and released her from his kissing bind.

“Good evening Miss Flores,” He cackled.

“You sir, you appal me!” She whimpered and turned away, letting a small shuddering gasp loose from her red smudged lips.

“And you have brought great pleasure to me,” she heard Lord Jakoby laugh.

She sprinted away like she did last time, fast and upset but this time she was not able to run to her sister. She found the kitchens and cried softly on a nearby staircase. She cried in the dark for the next three hours before she heard Rosalinda call for her. She used her gloved to dry her tears and came to realise…he still had her other glove. She tended to hate crying in front of others if they were not Rosalinda. She cried for many reasons after the kiss. Shock, forceful nature, a person she despised and countless others…along with the fact he had stolen something she had never given any male…worse…she didn’t understand why she liked and hated it.

On the carriage ride home, she was too tired to speak and thanked the heavens that no one asked her how she felt, because she would have surely sobbed again. She never wanted to see that orc or that fucking glove again! When they arrived home she slumped upstairs and slept deeply in her bed, her sister crawled in beside her and placed a rose she was carrying onto their side table. Rosalinda did notice it when she found her baby sister, the pink in the whites of her eyes and the smell of salt on her cheeks…and the smudge of her lips and two little stars in the corner of her brow now faded into her skin.

The stars meant dignity, but Calista felt nothing like that anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MILK MILK MILK I NEED SOME MILK GUYS CAUSE THIS CHAPTER IS THE START OF ALL THE SEXUAL TENSION TO COME  
> 
> 
> please comment what you thought about it- no pressure though!  
> 🥺👉👈


	6. “…avoiding your mother.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Flores is over and under the moon with joy!  
> Mr Flores gives Calista his blessing for something she never would've expected.

# CHAPTER 6

* * *

_**1799, Saturday, 6th, April** _

The next morning at breakfast felt longer than the ball itself. Their mother could not stop retelling the events of the previous night. Their father had finished his breakfast and now had his nose tucked into the words of the newspaper. Her siblings were enjoying their scones and porridge while Calista felt ill and unable to eat. She stirred her porridge slowly not taking a single bit as she miserably wished that the events of the past two days had not occurred at all.

“Oh Mr Flores!” cried his wife happily, “The Lord Dixon is a fine match to our beloved Rosalinda is he not?”

“Yes dear,” he mumbled, not taking much notice to her.

“And did you see how the Minister’s daughter practically refused to leave darling Santiago’s side?”

He nodded and licked his lips, his fingers reached up and scratched his sideburn, “Yes dear.”

“Patricia should be spending more time dance instead of with my sister,”

“Yes dear,” He sighed and shifted his spectacles up his nose.

“Oh and that Orc he brought with him, I wished we had never met him!” She shrilled, “He may be the richest creature in all the shire unbelievably, yet I have never seen a more disagreeable, proud, horrid and disobliging monster!”

Licking his thumb and flicking the page he muttered, “Yes dear.”

“Mr Flores!” Their mother realised his disregard with a shout, “Would you listen to me!? Did you not see how he slighted our darling Calista!?”

His eyes glanced up from his paper to his youngest daughter and hummed, “Slighted my little Callie did he?”

Calista looked up from her porridge and was about to deny it….but it would be a fat ugly lie. He did more than slight her, he…invaded her mind and tore her apart, he opened something she felt sick to confess she enjoyed…something that should never had been opened. The weight of his thick tongue was still heavy in the memory of her mouth. It was warm and slippery…she remembered Rosalinda confiding her first kiss to her and she claimed it was beautiful, but Calista didn’t feel the beauty…She had experienced this feeling before back in the city when she worked; expect she knocked it away when they moved and with these feelings back with the addition to whatever Jakoby had brought to her mind…

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She saw his mean yellow eyes, his tuckless sneer and his cane…He had seized her ever thinking thoughts and the longer she thought of how weak willed she was it made her feel sick. There was no chance she could eat this mornings porridge.

Calista flinched when the volume of Mrs Flores rose.

“How observant you are!” his wife scolded, her cheeks rosy with annoyance, “I should’ve known I had agreed to marry a dult!”

Across the table from Calista, next to their mother, her sister Patricia was demurely sipping her tea when her hazel eyes narrowed.

“Mother,” Patricia piped up smugly, “Lord Jakoby accepted Calista’s approach with _my_ help.”

The oldest threw a mean smirk to the youngest. If she were a child Calista would’ve poked her tongue at her sister. She rolled her eyes. Her sister barely had anything to do with it! She was a fool and almost designed greater tragedy to the Flores reputation when she opened her fat mouth!

 _“I know well enough of_ _reputations your family have made…”_

She shuddered at the memory. What did he know? What had Aunt Laidee and her mother so loosely passed around? Was it an empty threat to simply intimidate and embarrass her?

Her mother blinded from her daughter’s looks brightened and gasped with a changed cheery disposition, “Accepted?”

“Indeed,” Patricia hummed, spreading jam across a scone, “He took her around the garden for a romantic moonlit stroll.”

Calista slammed her hands upon the table, the cutlery clattering slightly. The family fell silent as she scoffed and slapped her hand over her eyes, “It was anything but romantic,” sighed she peered to her father, “he is as infuriating as he is dissociable.”

Her mother tutted with a growing grin, “Infuriating or not, you should be grateful such wealth to have carried you on his arm Calista.”

“Mrs Flores,” her father piped up, he removed his spectacles and looked up to his wife. He could not be bothered with her gossip and to see his youngest if not favourite daughter be the centre of this battle pained his head.

“Why do you speak so meanly of our newly made neighbours in the shire at one moment and then the next your praise his advances on our daughter?” He asked folding his paper up and sipping his cup of tea.

“Mr Flores,” his hypocritical wife gritted her teeth and sighed, “When _you_ die I shall be miserable and forced to live from our children until I join you, I should very much like to live comfortable with Lord Jakoby’s wealth than poor Santiago’s inheritance…besides Calista is untamed and will always need her mother to straighten her out.”

“Well children,” Mr Flores slowly stood from his chair and smiled to his three daughters and one son, “We must all pray I out live your mother then?”

Her mother gasped in horror and stood from her own chair.

“Oh Mr Flores!” His wife cried with an obnoxious shrill, “You are so beastly to my tender nerves!”

Tears dramatically blubbered from her eyes as she sobbed hard and turned away to run out of the dining room…

_Very mature mother…_

Rosalinda mumbled, “Patricia, it is your turn.”

Indeed this was not the first time their mother threw a childish tantrum. The eldest rolled her eyes and slapped her napkin on the table. She screeched out from her seat and stomped after her mother in need of comfort.

Mr Flores pursed his lips and tapped the table with his knuckle to gain their attention back from the muffed sobbing next door.

“Santiago my boy,” he cleared his throat, “Go into town today, check if the post office has any mail, I am expecting words from the trading company,” he looked out the window briefly and added, “Be quick about it, take a horse if you must, as I deem it will rain.”

His son climbed out from his chair with a scone stuffed between his lips. He winked to his lovely sisters and departed to the stables.

“Rosalinda you are excused to start your chores,” he dismissed.

As the girls both stood up he raised his voice and his hand, “Not you Calista…I must have words.”

Mr Flores have words with her? Whatever had she done? But she remained silent afraid she would unless some anger temperament from her father she had never experienced first hand. Rosalinda seemed unsure herself too, concerned but obedient as she saw the expectant look of their father. Rosalinda eventually slipped out from the dining room and now it was only Calista and Mr Flores.

Mr Flores sat back into his chair and reached out to cup her hand in both of his.

She held her breath as he exhaled his and looked at her sharply, “Calista, I give you my blessings.”

She choked and laid her other hand ontop of his, she looked into his face and asked desperately, “Father? What for?”

“I give you my blessings,” he smiled, and dictated, “To never marry.”

Now that was an oddity no daughter would ever expect from their father.

He laughed lightly at her as she turned the cogs in her mind, “Your sisters were good wives, but both lacked poorly made husbands. I would never subject you to the misery they experienced first hand.”

They winced together as the sobbing from Mrs Flores grew louder, it was as if she heard them.

“Do not let your Mothers words ever dictate your choice,” he said quickly.

A soft grin slipped on her face. She loved her father and couldn’t love him anymore than what she did now. This was the greatest thing she had ever been told! No other girls were pardoned from marriage unless they were planning to join a nunnery…and that her father would never along.

“If you so wish to marry I will only give you my blessing if you love him and he loves you.”

His daughter launched to his side, kneeling and wrapping her arms around his waist as she laughed happily, “Thank you father!”

He kissed her head tenderly and rubbed her back, “Go now children,” he playfully scolded, “help your sister wash and hang the laundry, if you should need me I will be in my study…”

A crash made the two jump up to their feet, the loud breakage was followed by a mournful wail from her spoilt mother.

He sighed with a clenched smile, “…avoiding your mother.”

She smiled and kissed his withered cheek, “Yes father,” before skipping off out to the outdoor bath house where her sister was scrubbing their clothing.

She looked up at the sky and its looming dark clouds. But nothing could rain on her joyful inner parade. She had the outright permission from her father to never marry, going against her mothers desire for her to marry the dishonourable rich orc Lord Nicholas Jakoby. She quickly ran to her sister, feeling the morning dew glide across her ankles with a childish giggle bursting from her lips.

She felt like doing cartwheels across the backyard! Nothing was going to get in her way now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MR FLORES IS A GOOD DAD- THATS PERIODT!  
> This is a fairly short chapter and for that I apologise. Please accept this offering of milk?  
> 


	7. “I hate my life. God smite me, please!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contemplating the memory...  
> Getting an unwanted letter....  
> suffering in the rain....  
> Calista Flores hates her life.

# CHAPTER 7

* * *

_**1799, Saturday, 6th, April** _

The girls were giggling while they hung the washing. Calista wandered if there was any point to hanging the washing as the sky got darker and thunder was rolling over the green hills.

Rosalinda sighed, “He is just what a young man ought to be, Calista. Sensible…” she hesitated, “Well until he had a drink, lively…and I never saw such happy manners.”

Her little sister pegged another stocking, noting, “Handsome too, which a young man ought to be if he possibly can. And he seems to like you very much, which shows good judgment,” she rounded to her side and knocked her with her elbow, smiling, as she picked up a wet chemise, “No, I give you leave to like him. You’ve liked many a stupider person whilst on the drink. No, I’d rather a happy drunk than a violent one, he seemed very boyish with you.”

Rosalinda laughed uncontrollably, “Oh Callie. He was so sweet and silly!” Her tan cheeks grew pinker the more they talked about Lord Dixon.

“He could be happier in his choice of sisters and friends,” Calista sarcastically claimed, “Though the sisters I suppose he cannot help.”

Rosalinda peered around the sheet she had pegged, her face softening into concern, “Did you not like them?”

Calista laughed, “Not at all! Their manners are quite different from his,” she leaned in further, “Did you not see their toffee risen faces? I presumed something smelled amiss to them.”

Her sister smiled and shrugged, “At first, perhaps, but after a while I found them very pleasing. Both Miss Dixon’s are in their brothers’ care, Lord Dixon confided in me that his parents perished at sea and he is their only familiar relative. He hopes to find good country husbands for them, or to send them off to Scotland for school. Either way I am sure they will continue to make fine neighbours and loving sisters.”

“…praise the Scots then?” Calista whispered under her breath.

“Calista!” She scolded, smacking her smirking sister with a soaked scarf, “I’m sure you’ll grow to admire them as I will.”

Her sister fell silent eyeing Calista while they hung up the doilies.

She looked to her feet and daringly suggested, “And even….Lord Mr Jakoby, you know, may improve on closer acquaintance.”

Calista dropped the lacy cloth into the basket, she bit her lip worryingly. She wondered if she should tell her sister about her unwillingly unromantic unappreciated kiss….or keep it to herself and take it and all her others to her grave. Could she confide this? Could Rosalinda know? Could she tell Rosalinda how she collect the money for the coffins?

No…never…

She chuckled awkwardly and twisted back to Rosalinda, “Do you mean he’ll be in humour to ‘ _give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men?’_ Never!”

She gasped and collected more from the laundry basket, “Did he say such a terrible thing!?”

Calista nodded with wide eyes and stood back. She picked up a nearby rake and puffed up her chest, clenching her hand to her side and lifting her nose she deepened her voice, “ _She is tolerable, I suppose..._ ” She laughed and covered her mouth advso she could fall back into composure, “ _But not handsome enough to tempt me_.”

Rosalinda threw her head back and laughed her hardest, her hands forced to hug her sides while she bent forward. Calista abandoned the rake to laugh with her. the two clenched hands tightly as they fell to their knees, soaking their dresses in dirty stains.

Rosalinda wiped her red face and sighed partially giggling, “It was very wrong of him to speak so.”

Wrong? Yes, but it was not the worst of his crimes…

Calista rested her forehead onto Rosalinda’s shoulder, “Indeed sister, it is near unforgivable!” many other things he’d done were unforgivable.

Life was good for now, that much she could hope.

The two stood up together. Rosalinda hung the last of the washing on the line before picking up the basket. The two walked side by side smiling. Calista looked out to the grove and saw a white steed clop out from the woods.

“Oh sister, look!” She smiled and tapped her Rosalinda’s shoulder, pointing out to the trees, “Santiago has returned,” she called out to him waving, “Santi!!”

Her brother laughed on the horse trotting along the pathway as he held up and waved his satchel of letters. The clouds dropped little droplets of rain, faintly tickling her skin, spits from the heavens.

Rosalinda waved with her, she winced as a droplet splashed onto her nose, “Come we can join him inside for tea.”

* * *

The girls joined their mother and sister in the Parlour, their father hearing their return crawled out from the safety of his study. Sitting in his secure armchair, Mr Flores lit a pipe and smoked while the girls sat and waited for Santiago to return from the stables. Calista sat on a stool by her father’s feet, Rosalinda sat on the lounge on their mother’s left while Patricia on their mother’s right. A lone empty chair by the small table was left for their brother.

The rain was picking up every few minutes.

The sound of the door opening and slamming caused their sniffling mother to jump. Heavy foot steps came quickly sliding open the doors to the sitting room. Their brother damped with rain but a large grin gracing his cheeky lips.

“Sisters!” he yelled, their mother jumped again, “I bring letters.”

“As you were ordered too,” Their father murmured, blowing soft ringlets into the room.

He shook his head as if to deny his duty. He opened the bag and pulled out two envelopes sealed with wax. His eye brows wiggled, “None for you father, only…for Rosalinda” he handed her one letter and turned to face the youngest, a letter was held down to her, “…and Calista.”

“From whom?” Patricia whined, crossing her arms with a scorn face and jealous eyes.

“Miss Hilda Dixon,” Santiago pointed to the Rosalinda and then to Calista, “…and Lord Jakoby,” He said as he sat in his chair.

Their mother gasped and immediately snatched both letters from their small hands.

“Mother!” they both shrieked.

“Hush!” she hummed, ripping open the red ribbon and wax of Rosalinda’s letter, “We shall read Rosalinda’s first!”

Their mother completely ignored the annoyed glares her daughters shared. Listening to her clear her throat and begun reading loudly.

“‘ _My dear friend_ ,’” She giggled shrilly like a school girl love strucked, barely beginning the letter. Callie uncontrollably rolled her eyes.

“‘ _We would much like to keep contact through sweet messages and my brother Lord Daryll Dixon has requested your presence for luncheon with us this coming Sunday after church_.’”

Her eyes widened and a great smile filled her old face, she turned her side and hugged her middle daughter tightly, “Oh darling Rose, I am so pleased!!!”

Patricia scoffed and then smirked down at Calista and mocked, “I am _awfully_ curious what Lord Jakoby says mother.”

Calista couldn’t bare to listen, she bit her lip worryingly again. Oh lord, what if he had written something unkindly, unkemptly, inappropriate for her mother’s beady eyes? What if he mention, oh no….the kiss?

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Very well,” she scoffed tearing open the blue insignia, Calista hear her mother gasp with horror. Oh god, what had he written!?

Her mother grumbled, “His handwriting is absolutely atrocious!”

When I share the amount of relief that was felt in Calista, you would wet yourself. She felt like she had walked through hell, spat at the devil and walked back out unburnt. It was orgasmic!

“‘ _Dear Miss Calista Flores_ ,’” Mrs Flores scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“‘ _I write upon invitation, you forgot your gl-_ ’ When did you, how did you lose your glove!?” She screeched, but did not let her daughter speak before continuing on with the humiliating text, “‘ _I would much like for you to accompany me for afternoon tea tomorrow this Saturday so I may return it personally and continue our discussion on the definition of refinement._ ’” She paused and turned to her husband, “My word that is today is it not?”

Mr Flores took out his pipe. Smoke curled from his lips and flew back up into his nose as he looked to the window behind the lounge, “Afraid she will lose a glove as the weather suspected to unkindly turn on us,” he gestured the pipe to the slowly weighted rain.

Mrs Flores whined, “But she must!”

What…Calista paled, she didn’t think she heard her own mother right at first.

“Then shall I prepare a carriage?” Santiago asked, stepping out of the chair.

She narrowed her eyes sharply at her brother.

“Nay my son!” Mrs Flores clapped her hands excitingly, “She shall travel horse back alone!”

What was happening. The world felt like it was tipping over. She didn’t have to marry so why did she even have to meet with him? Rosalinda was the first to sense her sister’s distress.

“Mother,” Rosalinda touched her shoulder, shaking her head, “The rain.”

Mrs Flores looked over her family and snorted, “Why do you look at me like that? Would you go all the way to Old Mansion estate without admiring it’s virtues and acquainting yourself further with the orc further more?”

“Mother I-” Calista whimpered pleadingly, she quickly looked up to Mr Flores, “Father you do not believe this to be appropriate?”

“…I do not-” Her father began until their mother stomped her foot and shot up from the lounge.

“That is enough Mr Flores!” she screamed, “She will go! Hurry along! Ride! Ride now or face harsher pelting of rain or worse; hail.”

The family were shocked and the room was empty of noise. The rain made it’s point to pound louder and the wind to rattle the window. It was a half a minute of silence and looks to one another that her father finally said his cursed passive aggressive words, “Well, my dear, if Calista should die of a sickness, it will be comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Lord Jakoby a disagreeable gentleman, and under your orders.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Came the wicked cackle of her mother, “People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be very well taken care of with his money and servants.”

….and so it was decided unwillingly that Calista Flores would travel through the rain to meet the Lord Jakoby, the Orc that stole her first kiss and her stupid glove!

* * *

The sound of the horse’s hooves trotting in the puddles and mud covered the whimpers Calista made while she rid side saddle on the old road leading up to the old drive way. A mighty spark of lightly lit up the sky from far in the mountains of the emerald lush shire. Thunder rumbled the valley, the horse slightly spooked as it threw its head to the side slightly.

Calista looked up to the sky and cried, “I hate my life. God smite me, please!”

For that would be a great reward to save her from the mean predictions of Lord Jakoby. She crossed the bridge and sobbed over the loud roar of the rising river below. The fish and turtles happily swimming and waddling around while the loud croaks of frogs chirped on the railing.

* * *

She road through the estates stables and tied her horse up to a lone post, shivering. It was true that they had said. Ten horses were lying in their hay, munching happily while the storm rained on.

Holding her sides, she wiped her eyes and stumbled out to walk up the rest of the cold driveway, to the front door of the great mansion that had been left to rot for the past nine years. Many looters had decimated it over the years but now that she observed the house now; she saw the improvements that had been made. Replacements’ of windows and repainting had already brought it back to its greatness.

She banged her fist as hard as she could and stepped from foot to foot, attempting to remain somehow warm.

When the door opened she almost cried with relief. Behind the door was a wrinkled gobliness, her pointed nose held the frame of spectacles for her greying eyes, she murmured, “Are you Lady Flores?”

The human girl nodded and slipped her hand into her brother’s satchel, holding out the letter with Lord Jakoby’s name to her wart covered fingers.

“Miss Flores, I was called by the lord Jakoby, I presume he is home?”

The gobliness shrieked and opened the door wider, reaching out for her with her old frail arms, “Heavens Miss! Please come out from the rain!”

Slamming the door behind them the woman pressed her hand into her back and guided her along informing her, “Lord Jakoby awaits in his personal parlour.”

With every step, the sound of her feet made loud squelching noises. The dripping from her skirts rained across the carpeted flooring. She shivered and blushed.

Never had she been inside the Manor before. The walls were covered in cream yellow paint. Calista admired how the house looked like a house and not something that had not been abandoned to the wilderness.

As she walked she did notice something…a surplus of paintings covered the walls…no portraits of himself. The couldn’t be a symbol of humility? This was a sign of humiliation…he had not shown a sign of being respectful to any orcish brotherhood, had he not been blooded? His tusks had been filed down, did he or someone else inflict such harm onto himself?

The gobliness smiled softly to her and led her to a dark door, knocking softly onto the wood before slipping the both of the inside. The older female cleared her throat and curtsied, croaking, “Lord Jakoby, may I present Miss Flores as per your request.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAND TO GOD YOU WILL SEE JAKOBY IN THE NEXT CHAPTER I SWEAR IT!!!!!!
> 
> Here is a cup of milk:


	8. I was a doctor...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calista wants her glove, Jakoby doesnt think she is healthy. Calista is somewhere she shouldn't belong.

# CHAPTER 8

* * *

_**1799, Saturday, 6th, April** _

The parlour was a generous size, the walls tall like the doors, accommodating to every species. On the left wall a fireplace filled the space, on the right a table with cheeses and meats and tea sat by. The two grand curtains were shut over both windows.

The housekeeper escaped quickly, walking out of the parlour and shutting the door behind her.

The Orc stood firm by his fire place, his head craned over the mantel to look into the flames. His blue coat dragged slightly behind his feet when he turned to welcome her. at the hilt of his neck, a crimson cravat with his insignia pin framed by his high white collar. His cat eyes narrowed at her own appearance.

His voice was relaxed and deep while he noted aloud, “Look at you,” his top lip peeled up to sneer, “Drenched and dripping all over my Persian rug…”

He tapped the fabric that covered the floor with his cane and sighed. Calista rolled her eyes, why should she care? He was rich enough to find another one…it wasn’t even that nice. She didn’t intend to stay long so In her right she felt that the carpet could suffer.

She flushed and gritted her teeth, “ _Good day_ to you Lord Jakoby, I come for my glove.”

Just like the night before she told herself the faster she did this the faster she could leave and go home. She hoped somehow the rain would die down and she could have a peaceful ride home. The air was colder than outside. She shivered as she stepped closer.

“Ah is that it?” he mused, licking his bottom lip before gesturing to the table in the centre of the room with piles of cheese and crackers were laid out, “Please sit.”

Her chest felt solid as the word rolled off his tongue. The ball from last night rang loud in her head.

_“Now Sit.”_

_“P-pardon me?” she whispered._

_He growled deeply, “Sit!”_

_No, I am not doing this again!_ She clenched her fists and released her frustration.

“My glove sir, return it to me!” She screamed, holding out her cold hand. Her adrenaline was surging and warming her flesh. Her hair matted wet, curls lose and clinging to her angry face, she looked like she was filled with insanity and rage. She wanted to go home!!

The orc…was not afraid…He did not flinch, he was perfectly still. Calista almost thought he was made of stone and just a dark painted statue. His face was perfectly frozen until his ears twitched slightly up and his nose took a deep smell.

He rocked over to her on his cane and towered over her again.

“It is impolite to raise your voice,” He murmured, glaring down at her.

She hissed up, spitting in his face with fire in her, “As it is impolite to take things that do not belong to you!”

Her eyes were filled with fire and his were glazed in ice.

The door behind her opened and it did not take long for Calista to assume who entered.

Her rude host peered behind her, “Mizz Smith do you need something?”

The old gobliness who returned lifted her claw up, beneath her arm was a thick sheet. Her ears flattened as she came wobbling forward. She smiled at the two and nodded to the girl, “I came to give the lady a blanket sir, dry her and warm her up from the cold.”

She reached forward to hand off the soft article into Calista’s arms until the orc chuffed and held up his hand.

“No,” He scowled, “If she is stupid enough to ride through this weather she must learn to accept the consequences of the cold.”

She hissed, “It was not my choice to arrive as I did sir!”

“No?” He smirked in with disbelief.

“No,” she grunted and resisted the feeling to shove him back as he was officially too close for comfort, “it was my mother’s! She intended I fall ill…” biting the inside of her cheek and looking to her feet and confessed, “So I might stay longer.”

“It is not the first time I have heard of such a scheme designed by desperate women,” he looked to his housekeeper and sighed, rubbing his yellow eyes, “Very well, you may be shrouded. Drink the tea, warm yourself by the fire if you must.”

The moment the housekeeper handed her the pile, she violently unfolded it, wrapping herself in warmth. Mizz Smith bowed and left swiftly back out of the room, leaving the pair to the their self-demise. Lord Jakoby stumbled to the table and poured out a cup of tea for her. his hand reached out and leant it to her.

The cup was of fine quality too, possibly too good for guests of her class. This was a cup you would serve to Lady Sanchez. Before drinking she admired the small paintings of naughty pixies and fauns dancing in the grass that surrounded the outer cup.

Lord Jakoby was helping himself to the cheese…Calista grumbled to herself as she remembered who she was acquainting her time with. Stepping to the fire place, she knelt to the floor and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and sipped at the tea. The warmth of the hearth fanned over her cheeks. She shut her eyes and enjoyed this small pleasure. The young girl rethought over what her mother said and it still infuriated her that her father hadn’t put a stop to it.

Whatever happened to, _“A true lady never walks to another’s home without honest transport.”_? She sighed, after the things she had done to make money on her own...she wasn't a true lady at all. She didn't know if she could take on Lord Jakoby, if she could back out of this confrontation she backed herself into. She wished that she had the ability to thin before she acted...it's what got her here in the first place, cold and heart pouding.

A crack of lightening caused her to jump, a little tea spilling onto his fine Persian rug.

He joined her on the floor eventually, lowering slowly to the ground by his cane carefully. He unashamedly stared at her and Calista felt incredulously uncomfortable by the gaze. It was improper and socially nerving; one of the many reasons why many disapproved of him it would seem. She hated it, the silence…his hand without her awareness had carefully taken the cup away from her hands. Her skin tingled, she felt small ghostly pinches.

She murmured to break the air, “You stated in your invitation you wished to ‘ _continue our discussion on the definition of refinement._ ’?”

His blue fingers scratched his chin. his fingers pinched the high collar of his dress shirt, it looked to cause slight discomfort for the male.

“I had intended such,” The orc hummed and nodded his head, “But how well will you contribute to the discussion when you are in this state? I suspect not well…”

She looked away and swallowed, she shifted closer to him with the intention to sit closer to the flames. A loud thunder rocked the ground as she felt colder and colder no matter how close she was to the fire. Her lips cracked and she shuddered.

Unexpectedly a large hand was pressed to her head. His thumb rubbed across her forehead.

“Sir,” She swallowed, “What are you doing?”

He whispered softly, “You’re trembling Miss Flores,” taking his hand away, he sat forward to her and stripped his coat.

She denied it instantly, “I am not trembling I-” But lifting her hand she saw he was right. She couldn’t hold the cup, that’s why it spilt. The tips of her bronze fingers were turning an angry red into a bruising purple…they stung went she moved them. The weight of his coat weakened her, her eyes fluttered. She gradually started to feel numb, her head starting to feel dense and heavy. She saw two blue fingers snap in her face before it was grabbed and steered to face the Orc.

He growled, pulling his coat and the blanket around her tighter, “You already have a fever…fast!” he shouted, “How long were you in the rain you stupid girl!?”

She moaned and shook her head, her nails weakly clawing against his hands and rough fingers, “H-how dare y-you!”

She felt bile rise, the tea she had just drunk, rising up from her chest. The orc shook her and yelled at her face demanding an answer, “Tell me now or I shall throw you out!!!”

Her heart was palpitating faster and faster, her eyes burned and started to blur, “H-half an hour, s-sir I-” She whimpered before vomiting across his lap…and Persian carpet. His hand rubbed down into her back as she rid herself of the tea and the breakfast she did not have. When she finished however, she did not apologise for the mess. Instead she rolled over into the thick smelly chunks, hiccupped, and fell asleep.

* * *

_**1799, Tuesday, 9th, April** _

The room was constantly spinning, even with her eyes closed she would feel bright lights and dark shadows surround her. she whimpered. She couldn’t cry out for help! She couldn’t move! She felt like she could barely breath. Her head was hot but her body freezing. Was she in hell?

A distant voice carried through. First it was like the roar of a bear, second it was gruff scuttling and finally a deep and beautiful purr which begged, “Calista, open your eyes Calista.”

After so much torment and agony, she was granted the movement of her sight…she peered open her eyes and winced as a blinding light hit her. She moaned and twisted her neck, trying to escape the painful brightness.

“Are you awake little thing,” a familiar voice rumbled, the sound of curtains being closed followed, “Or do make plans to sleep again?”

Her eyes hesitantly slipped open, her gaze was blurry but his silhouette unmistakable, “L-lord Jakoby?” She whimpered, her head rose up from the soft pillow she was imbedded in.

She tried sitting up but saw his shape move and a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, gently pushing her back into the comfort of the sheets she was wrapped inside. She whined with distress. She needed to go home. She needed her glove. 

“Stay, don’t move too much,” He hushed.

She was sure she was ill now, her mother’s plan had worked. Another rippling of bile hacked up from her throat. He was by her side and directing her head into a metal pail beside the bed. She spat the chunks and contents of her bowels into the bucket.

His palm rubbed the back of her sweaty head and neck while he soothed, “Good girl, let it out.”

She hacked until tears sprung from her eyes. Falling back into the bed she gasped loudly, “Thank you.”

She didn’t want to say thankyou but it was better than making an utter mess of herself and being entirely ungrateful. She groaned and tightly shut her eyes. She was so tired she could sleep for a whole week.

“Open your mouth,” she heard him command softly, “You haven’t eaten in two days.”

 _Two days…_ God did her parents know? Well her mother expected such an occurrence, she would be pleased. Her eyes peeped back open and saw the bowl and spoon in his hand. He was dipping and collecting a sop of substance.

She moaned, “What is that?”

He heard him faintly chuckle and hold out the spoon full to her, “The finest gruel you’ll ever taste, tell me if it is too hot.”

When the spoon slipped between her lips, she sucked down the watered down porridge. It wasn’t the finest gruel as he had exaggerated but it was better than the bitter metallic taste of dry vomit.

By the third swallow she gasped, “Must I be fed like a toddler?”

“You can barely move,” He smiled and help up the forth spoonful to her, “and if you do you’ll maker yourself even more sick than you are.”

She nodded and swallowed down a few more spoonfuls before feeling grizzily. She moved her face away unable to take anymore. Beneath the heavy weight of the blankets she flexed her fingers. They were not cold and they didn’t hurt to move, they moved over her stomach and hugged herself loosely…she smiled and moaned happily in the soft and warmth of the blankets…but she realised she was feeling skin, her skin.

Her eyes widened and looked over at her shoulder….She wasn’t wearing her dress!

“My god,” she gasped and whimpered, “W-why am I naked sir!?”

She stared at him with horror…did he? Did he have his way with her!!? Her eyes filled with tears her face and chest reddened as her blood levels raised.

The orc quickly tutted her and shushed, “Your clothes were wet and cold, when Mizz Smith stripped, washed and redressed your unconscious self, you soaked it once again in sweat so I decided it be best to leave you nude until you are in better health.”

He decided to keep her nude!? That was worse than any forced kiss!

She growled and snapped, “What would you know what is best for my health?” her arms holding herself tighter as she dug further to escape his eyes.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Because Miss Flores,” he dumped the spoon back into the bowel, “I was a doctor in the wars I fought. If I was not running in to gun fire and storms of blood I was healing boys and amputating limbs.”

She jerked her head back and mumbled softly, almost a whisper, “But Orcs cannot be doctors…you lie.”

It was partially true. Certain laws prohibited Orcs, Brezziks and Goblins from studying the law of medicine, not that it didn’t matter as barely any of them could afford the university expenses…only rich Orcs in Russia could enjoy those illegal career pleasures.

“I am not you are correct,” His lips turned up slightly as he patted his good thigh, “I am a healer if that is your preferred words?” He stirred the gruel and scooped a handosme serving, “I am a doctor in the sense I identify the bodily issues and strive to rid it of the body before anymore harm can partake to the body and mind.”

The spoon came down between her eyes, “You have not eaten enough,” his face spread into a sadistic grin, “finish the bowl or I will force it down your throat.”

She choked at his bluntness and lifted her lips from the covers to take it into her mouth…she hadn’t the strength to fight him…not this time…

So there the two were. Orc doctor and human patient. Calista fed like a toddler while an Orc administrated his aid. Each biteful became less and less as the bowl emptied. Stepping away from her, Jakoby carried the bowl in his hand to the door, calling over his shoulder.

“If you desire assistance to empty your bowels through excrement, I will call upon Mizz Smith…” he smirked and looked at her over his shoulder and smugly said, “I’d kindly prefer if you not piss or soil my bedheets again.”

 _My bedsheets_. Surely he meant his ownership of his property…until her eyes opened wider.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

Looking over the furniture and the size of the bed…it connected in her mind that this was the master bedroom…Lord Jakoby’s Bedroom…and she had already shat in his bed.

As much as it was a revengeful accomplishment…it was humiliating and disgusting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some milk my tension building darlings.  
> 


	9. A bath to enjoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calista is confronted by the landscape, and enjoys a bath.

# CHAPTER 9

* * *

_**1799, Tuesday, 9th, April** _

The morning continued to be a boring wake and when she melted back into the soft sheets she sighed and fell back asleep. When she awoke again, it was the middle of the day and she needed to move. Her back was sore and her stomach tight with hunger. Very careful, she slowly dragged her body up and sat straight in Lord Jakoby’s bed. Her head was weighted by not unbearably agonising. The next step was to pull the blankets away.

Her soft caramel skin bared itself to the world and the cold air, goosebumps racing up her legs as she steadily moved from the bed and laid her feet against the cold flat floor. Calista reached for the canopy curtain, holding her up and balancing her until she reached the side table, careful to not trip over the bucket of puke.

It took her a few minutes to finally find her full footing and balance. She held her arms out by her side and let gravity take control. She took a full step, another after another until she reached the furthest wall. When her fingers brushed the wallpaper she smiled and praised herself, turning around she decided to walk back to the bed this time; except quicker. She touched the coverlet and slipped it from the bed, to cover herself. She back onto the bed and wriggled her toes, feeling her body come back to life.

The window at the foot of the bed still had closed curtains, she could not tell the time or whether it was night or day. She wondered if she should even be up and walking or if she was being purely disobedient to her “doctor” orc.

She wondered when anyone might check up on her again and when she might be allowed to where clothes as she was unconsciously soiling herself and sweating heavily. She felt slightly flushed, her cheeks felt warm yet not as hot as she had for the torturous nightmare.

Rising back up she shuffled to the window, the blanket dragging behind her feet. Her fingers brushed the curtain and tickled the fringing. Peering behind the curtain she slowly opened it wide and saw the great estate’s yard.

She paled in sheer shock…

The grounds that she had expected so green and lush of life from the rain were covered…in water. The rain was continuing and had lightened its flow, however the damage was done. A flood had been made. The earth was ripped up and shaded the bottom in musty brown.

Its stream had ceased before a copse just under a small hill dip. The creek river had completely gone over… she couldn’t see the path or the bridge she crossed yesterday. Her heart was still, and burning…it hurt and she felt as though the air had been stolen from her throat, she could barely breathe.

Calista wouldn’t be able to go home until the flood went down, but never before had she seen such a Noah’s spill like this! She was threw the curtain apart further, enough to almost throw it off the rails.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and sucked in as much as possible. If she opened them after the count of three she would be back in bed and awakening from just a nightmare.

_One, two, three….._

Alas, she still stood naked and wrapped in a blanket belonging to Lord Jakoby in his master bedroom in his grand house while water outside covered the grounds and blocked her chances of returning home.

She bit her lip and held back a scream.

_Knock knock knock._

The bedroom door creaked open. And in came the Gobliness Mizz Smith. When her black orbs found her, she screeched with a happy shrill.

“Oh Miss! You’re up! This is such good news! How do you feel, Dearie?”

Calista stood back from the sudden loud welcome. She held the covering tighter and swallowed hard. She tried to keep herself together and not let herself embarrass her overall actions and mind. The girl nodded and confirmed.

The gobliness scuttered closer to her and perked her pointed ears. Her nails jittered with frantic anticipation. Her onyx eyes were blinking rapidly…maybe she was half brezzik?

Calista’s dry lips croaked, “I-I am, feeling adequate ma’am.” As she uncomfortable shuffled from foot to foot in her bed sheet she whispered to the old creature, “May I request suitable attire? My clothes perhaps?”

She felt so exposed, she timidly bowed her head to the gobliness.

Her shaky green hands reached out to her and brushed Calista’s bare arm softly. A toothy smile graced her emerald lips. Her crone eyes blinking again.

“Oh I’m sorry my dear but I’m afraid with your bodily occurrences you’ve stained them to buggery, pardon my language miss!” She cackled lightly, clearing her wrinkly throat she continued, “Fret not however miss, as the Lord Jakoby made an order that the moment you were up and walking you were to get a nice steamy bath in a big tub! Doesn’t that sound nice dear?”

It did sound nice, she had only ever bathed in a full tub twice in her life excluding the time she was christened. Despite the pleasantries Calista was aware to keep her wits present. If her original dress was destroyed…would she have to roam nude longer?

“I am grateful yes, but my clothes,” she gently pressed, “…what will I wear?”

Mizz Smith’s ears spiked up, her claw tickled Calista’s chin as she answered, “Oh precious, you will wear a dress I managed to whip up yesterday and last night. It isn’t too flashy, but I made it with care and the same size as your ruined one.”

Biting her top lip she nodded.

“Now, you just rest your pretty head and stay covered, Jirak knows when our Lord Jakoby will return to check on you,” Mizz Smith grumbled playfully and winked, “I will retrieve you once I’ve filled the tub with hot water!”

Clicking her fingers she bowed and left the room swiftly, leaving Miss Flores standing by the window to wallow back into her misery. She hissed to herself, she should’ve asked about what the flooding would do furthermore. Would it rise? How long would it take to go down for her to walk the path? She didn’t even know f her family was safe. They lived at the bottom of a steep hill to the Dixon mansion, separated by the stone wall…

Dread and fear pounded into her stricken heart. She felt like the floor swept under her feet… she fell. Her legs were still weak but this was not her illness…this was her love and worry.

The door slipped opened again.

Two leather shoes and the hilt of a cane came into view.

“Why are you out of bed little thing?”

She shuddered and looked up to him. Her eyes were puffing up, her nose sniffling. Lord Jakoby glared down at her with hellfire in his golden gaze. Her fingers twitched round the sheet, she was conscious of the exposure her breasts entailed, her nipples poking just above her covering.

She wiped her nose and pulled the sheet up further. She cowered from him and murmured to the floor.

She thought he was crouching to the floor to her, to hear her better…but it was merely his cane moving to smack the bottom of her bent chin. It painfully knocked her jaw and tapped it, forcing her face to lift. The tip of the cane pressed into her neck, a pocket of vulnerability seeped into her soul.

“What did you say?” he chuffed when she mumbled again, “Repeat yourself…or have you no dignity?”

Was dignity to be her next jailer? First she lost her refinement and capability to understand, now her own dignity was at stake. Would this Orc give her no mercy for all her days? Could he not possess an honest and pure smile?

She trembled beneath his shadow that devoured her. Her fingers let go of the sheet and touched her quivering lips.

“M-my family, the water…th-they…are they…” she covered her mouth and whimpered as she looked away and tears started to burn beneath her eyes.

What if they drowned!? Their house under water. She has no one except for her aunt, a cruel aunt; a woman who would not help her even if the world was ending. Her nose twitched until she felt a weight on her head. Fingers moved her hair over her head and away from her face.

“If you are worried upon their safety, cease this. My friend Lord Dixon has convened many of the nearby farmers including your family,” He sighed and tutted, “You now only need worry for yourself as you will be in my care until this wretched water depletes back into the earth.”

She felt tears spill down her cheeks, a elephants’ foot and weight disappearing instantly from her chest as all the relief surrounded her. His hand left her head as he rolled his eyes and steadily tapped the floor, “Get up now, does Mizz Smith know of your movements?”

As she climbed to her feet, her face to his hips she nodded, “She…” she exhaled slowly through dark pink puffed lips, “is preparing a bath I believe.”

Wobbling onto her feet, she almost crashed into him before falling back onto the edge of his mattress.

“You are not well enough,” he snorted and stepped over to her, pushing her back to lay down, “You’ve already fallen on the floor.”

She grasped his wrist and struggled against him, sitting back up and fidgeting the sheet as it kept drooping down her chest.

“I am fine, I just…” She paused and wiped her eyes, “My family…Rosie, I can not lose them, sir.”

She was surprised to feel his hand cup her face. His palm was so large, it was so warm and…callous. Her chin scratched against his rough skin slightly. His thumb pressed into the dimple of her chin.

He leant his face down to her and murmured, “And you shall not, I promise that.”

She was slipping into the hypnosis of his bright cat eyes, hanging onto every syllable before the door widened and a loud gasp broke her trance.

Lord Jakoby released her and turned to his side, Calista could see the Gobliness that had returned. Her black eyes were wide but her lips were holding back a grin, she bowed her head and tapped her claws together as she stood away from the door frame.

“Lord Jakoby, pardon me,” she lifted her hand to the lady, “I am here to collect the Miss for her bath.”

Jakoby cleared his throat and sighed before helping lift her up off the bed to stand again.

His voice was deep and soft, though no matter when he spoke, he was always nerving and intimidating. She slipped up and wobbled on her stance, she pray he wasn’t right, she pray she was healthy enough to walk, she forgot how hard it was to walk the first time and now she had to do it again.

His fingers brushed over her hand and led her to Mizz Smith, “Go with Mizz Smith. Do as she says,” the orc moved his attention to his servant and commanded solidly, “Mizz Smith, return her to me; I will be in the art hall waiting.”

She curtsied, “As you command Lord Jakoby,” and hooked her claw over the girl’s shoulders, “Come dearest.”

The two left the Lord in his room, Calista peered over shoulder and watched as he went back to the bed. She had stolen an entire sheet away and she only hoped her thievery wouldn’t last longer than needed. She smiled, with her family safe she worried less; except who could truly trust the word of an orc?

_I’m starting to think like mother and Patricia, god I need Rosalinda._

They were on their way for her bath, something she would be grateful to have. Washing with a bowl has never worried her, but to bath in a tub is a great gift.

She took notice of the walls and awed at the art covering just the main halls, she thought hard on what the art hall would entail. There was one thing she noticed that was consistent in the art. They either held naked creatures in mythological troupes…or some held the battles of war between the nine races and orcs, brezziks and goblins. The oils that held these visions onto canvas were beautiful and gruesome. There were paintings of the great Jirak fending off his own kind and the sacrifice of his life to the great horde. The further she walked alongside the gobliness the more depth in art she was drown in, her hands finally lifted to shield he eyes. The images of blood and war became too much for her. No wonder her Orc ‘friend’ was ever so glum and cold. It is what he surrounded himself in.

The gobliness steered her into a large room covered in tiles and white marble columns…she felt as though she had stepped into a roman painting of a bathhouse. Shutting the door she was stripped down to nakedness and led to the glory she had been looking towards. The bathtub was giant, it was larger and fairer than the bathtubs she had used twice in her past. Water steamed up the air around her.

Mizz Smith helped her step into the warm water and lay in the tub. Calista’s head rested against the edge of the tub, her eyes fluttered shut as all her muscles relaxed. The gobliness stumbled around her and poured sweet perfumes inside the water, bubbling smells of soft vanilla and the scent of burning incense by the window.

Her claws softly scratched through her hair and over her scalp, messaging the oils and soaps onto her hair. She hummed happily and sighed.

She bit her lip and swirled her fingers around the soap suds floating on the waters surface. She was surely experiencing heaven while her family must be terrified and fearing their livelihood.

“Mizz Smith?” she asked, slipping away from the gobliness and slipping in the bath to face the elderly servant, “how long shall the floods hold?”

“I cannot strictly say Miss,” she pinched her apron and clicked her tongue, looking to the window and shook her green head, “A week or two at most? But it rains through the night so I do not know precisely.”

She nodded and let the gobliness scrub her back clean of the filthy dirt and dust imbedded into her skin. The water she embarrassingly noticed was changing into a faint brown. The dirt was scraped from under her nails and between her toes. As her foot was massaged she moaned and the kind servant giggled. 

Taking a given cloth she washed her own intimate places while Mizz Smith collected towels and her new dress to set on a vanity.

After scrubbing her body, she was the coated and sprayed in perfumes, rubbed into her pores and hair. She smiled, she never smelt so sweet.

Carefully lifted out of the bath tub, she was carried to the stool in front of the vanity mirror.

Mizz Smith shrouded her in a thick, soft towel, “Now then, let us dry your hair yes?”

She nodded and tried herself as the housekeeper who was acting like a maid dried her thick brown locks. As she washed tenderly, Calista stared at her working face. Her black eyes narrowed and focussed to her duty, her teeth sharp but smiling.

“Thankyou,” Calista finally said. A word she realised she didn’t use often towards servants. It had been two years she hadn’t had a maid of her own to care for her like Mizz Smith.

The gobliness paused and rested her claw hand onto her shoulder softly, “It’s quite alright,” she smiled, “I am happy to help a girl the Lord speaks fondly of.”

Calista’s eyes widened, she scoffed, “Fondly?” she giggled and shook her head, “He has nothing but loathing for me I am sure. Lord Jakoby has been a cold shoulder ever since I have met his acquittance.”

Her hair now drying itself in a towelled turban, she was lifted from the stool and slipped into a shift and dress. She was thankful that it was a perfect fit. It was made with the materials and patterns that complemented her skin and colouring. Oranges and red embroidering atop of a white gown. She was amazed that Mizz Smith could design such a piece in under two days and only with her ruined dress.

As Mizz Smith laced Calista up she giggled to herself while the young woman sceptically reacted, “What you just said Miss…I never have met someone who could be a cold shoulder and stay by their side for hours.”

She didn’t think she heard her properly, “Pardon?”

“Since the moment you fell sick, Lord Jakoby has been sitting with you, reading to you…you did not hear him?”

Lord Jakoby had been with her for all that time? Reading? Did he not have better things to conduct? She bit her lip and couldn’t believe someone like him could be as caring…he did let her sleep in his bed, but who is not to say he attempted something unholy…

_God help my mind. He’s a mean orc, not a monster._

“No, Mizz Smith,” She mumbled, “Not a word.”

Lifting her hair and braiding and curling it into its loose Grecian style, she was cleaned, scented and dressed. She was ready to face him again. On her way to the art hall Mizz Smith forced her to eat an apple. The core and all devoured after she understood how truly hungry she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your mind will be dropped next chapter....so soak in a milk bath before you read...  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calista is met with her past and forced into a mess she has no choice but to clean.

# CHAPTER 10

* * *

_**1799, Tuesday, 9th, April** _

Mizz Smith took her to an arched door on the bottom floor. The wood was carved with religious symbols from a medieval era; the markings were aged but the wood clean and pristine. The house keeper who had quickly tied a belt under her bust before opening the door and tapped her back to titter ahead into the unknown hall. Peering out the door she hastily curtsied and called, “Lord Jakoby, I present Miss Calista Flores,” slamming the door behind her, leaving Calista alone in the ivory painted hall.

Calista walked forward expecting to find the orc behind a corner or statue. Yet Lord Jakoby was nowhere to be found. She wandered her surroundings and figured this was the only part of the house that hadn’t been completed in its grand renovation. Wet white paint was heavy and bitter, stinging her nose. She could see some parts of the walls and roofing were bare and damaged, wood was being replaced over the rotting stench of soaked aged bark. The roofing was covered in new unpainted wood, but buckets filled with water covered the floor, drips from the sky dripping into the pails by her hesitant feet. Calista found the walls that were covered in canvases had all been covered with sheets. The only pieces of art revealed were oriental bowls on stands and pearl white marble stones statues and busts that lined the centre of the art hall.

Her feet tittered around each bucket and stone. Her eyes blinked around the busts set up. Many Elves collected busts of themselves, their family and their ancestors. She had only seen stone busts of elves and humans…but Lord Jakoby owned a plethora of busts depicting the lower races. Brezziks eyes and cheek scales were moulded into the face of a male Brezziker. A bust that was identical to Mizz Smith had expanded eyes and appointed nose, her warts and moles faint but subtle defined onto the stone. And finally she passed the orcs…many different types, sizes and faces. One she recognised and viewed on closer inspection.

His eyes…were distant…his lips modelled without tusks, and his nose higher than the true self, yet no less him. His wrinkles around his chine and eyes and forehead were lessen and softer…a youth was solidified in this bust. Calista’s thin fingers tapered across the smooth stone of his nose and traced the lips with her delicate nails…It led her to wonder how old he was depicted? And the other orcs who were before him…all holding similar features in their eyes, nose and cheeks. Did all orcs have these features or were they closer to him…family to him. And if they were his relatives, family, blood…where were they now? Why was the Lord Jakoby cold? Was it abandonment or loss? Was it hate…or mourning? Her face leant closer and closer, as though she might find the answer to the hidden secrets in his stone orbs.

“Handsome, is he not?” he murmured, rumbling into her ear. His hot breath tickling across her lobe and neck.

She shrieked at the top of her lungs and jumped what felt like three feet above her head. Panting, she squeezed her chest and turned around to see the stone bust’s original muse. Her eyes were wide with shock at his unheard approach and close distance. His chest was practically on top of her, she back away and accidentally hit the bust to which she shrieked again and moved forward, knocking herself ungracefully into his body.

Gently grasping her arms, his cane pressed into her arm, he moved her away from the wobbling bust while a cruel smile spread on his face, “How do you feel, Miss Flores?” he asked insincerely.

She gasped and panted, controlling down to a sigh and annoyed exhale of the nose. Calista pinched the bridge of her nose and mumbled, “Alive and well…” she peered up at him and crossed her hands over her hips, “for now.”

He nodded, his ears flicking back.

She clapped her hands and cleared her throat, “I am still concerned for the wellbeing of my family, but if they are safe in Dixon’s care I am all appreciation and gratefulness.”

He was staring hard at her, unbashfully at her new dress and hair before his lips snarled and his nose flattened.

“I would’ve believed you grateful to me,” he rested his large palm onto his cane and walked away from her as he called over his shoulder, “I could have as well thrown you back into the mud. Your horse also has been fed and cared for well, he could’ve made a fine stew.”

Calista couldn’t believe his impertinence. To scare her, unapologetic and then leave her? She would not allow him to completely get away with that. She lifted her skirts and tottered behind him with speed.

“In the facts to tell you Lord Jakoby,” she huffed, circling around and stomping in front of him, her face pinking, “I evermore will and ever so am grateful to your generous hospitality.”

He hummed and lifted his cane, moving her aside roughly as he spat down at her “I do not believe you, but what is a matter of belief when there are contracts, morals and honour?”

His disbelief stabbed her unkindly.

“I am sir!” she yelled, shoving his cane away from her, “If I had the wealth of my own possession, I would provide it to you in compensation.”

He chuckled, “Money?” he continued on his walk to the end of the busts, “You think I care for wealth alone?” he scoffed as she scurried beside him, “I care for finer things than a poor beggar’s coins.”

That was it. She kicked his cane, that’s right, you read that without a single mistake, Calista took her foot and jabbed it against his walking stick, purposely faltering his steps to slow him and is arrogance down. When he fell onto his good knee he hissed and groaned. Looking up at her with a bear like growl, the orc clenched his fists, clearly holding back from striking her from the floor.

He hissed, “How dare yo-”

“No! How dare you!” she huffed, “For an Orc who claims I lack refinement and insults me with such lack himself…How dare you call me a beggar!” stealing his stick off the floor until he was able to balance himself onto his large thighs, she gave him his cane and stood at a kinder distance.

“I am many things Miss Flores,” He groaned and glared at her, “I am an orc, a healer, a gardener and in my own pleasure in the cities I am an art critic and collector” His palm smoothed over his bald head and snorted, “But lacking in refinement,” she shook his head and growled, “never.”

She backed away from him slowly as he stepped towards her. Her chest fluttered as fear rose in her. His face was filled with fury, his own blue cheeks flushed into a shade of light purple and his eyes harshly pinned to hers. Her hands were stiff with fear and her heart was pounding, she felt sick. He was surely going to hurt her. She would’ve run away but she couldn’t remember the way in and could not squeeze past this beast of a creature. His nose flared, smelling out her fear setting in the air. She bit her lips and gasped when her small frame hit the wall. Calista gulped understanding she had only trapped herself further. Turning her face away from him she listened to the loud taps of his cane getting closer and closer and then stop…

His fingers brushed her hair aside as he pressed his lips against her ear… “Let me show you…” he whispered, taking her trembling hands into his one. She felt her nose press to his, she prayed he wouldn’t kiss her again, except he was so close she was prepared for his lips.

He didn’t.

He carefully peeled her from the wall and balanced back onto his cane to move forward down the hall of covered art.

“What do you say when art is the plausible motive of the conversation?” He asked her, tugging her along with his arm.

“I appreciate to view such impressive art,” She shrugged, still frightened he might lash out at any moment, “I cannot say I have ever found disagreeable art however as I am not a critic nor seek it out that of which to critic.”

He hummed and asked, “Have you ever heard of the works of Francisco Goya?”

Her heart stopped. The name was very well known to her. Back in the city, locked away in the closet of her heart and memory; the closet he unleashed and forced the fear and regret fill her mind.

“…no…” She lied “Should I?”

Calista’s face felt numb, falling into an expressionless blank state. Her fingers twitched in his tight hand.

“Afraid not, a simpleton as you could not truly respect his work, I imagine,” he purred guiding her to a curtain, “He was a painter I met three years ago,” sliding the fabric away she was led into a hidden room of the art hall, “He still paints but sometimes finds himself imprisoned as he paints oddities and obscenities,” her breath felt short as other covered paintings filled this space, “See he paints his muses in the most exposed manners and improper positions…he’s a wicked fantasy designer.”

Calista felt cold, she didn’t want to risk seeing _those_ paintings, his paintings, the art of insanity and lust.

“I feel ill again,” she gulped and tried pulling away from the orc, “Excuse me,” she turned around and tried walking back to the curtain door…but she was tugged back. She faltered and almost slipped, when she turned around to find what had tripped her. The heavy weight on her skirt was his trapping walking stick, the butt of his mean cane leading up to his mean gaze. He dragged her skirt back until he could hold her arm.

“You will not run from me!” He hissed into her ear, “Not again Miss Flores, this time you will listen and obey me in my home, _my domain_.”

Calista released an uncontrollable whimper for now a hot air filled her chest and stomach. She felt a terror of invisible wind swallow her and strangle her. His voice rattle her inside, her body felt like a jelly tart. The orc steadied her further into the centre of the hidden quarter. She started to piece it together and understood what this collection of covered art work surrounded her like a dome was. He held her fast beside him. His large hand resting dangerously onto her waist, pulling her into him. Her attempts to leave was useless.

“See, a year ago from now he had feared his artwork would be destroyed by his Spanish government. What better way to save your art by giving it away? He authorised his last auction before his next predicted arrest. Sold all of his art to strangers. He trusted his work could be spread across the world and if he wished he could find them and claim them or grow in his popularity,” He was staring at a covered canvas, and gesturing to it with his cane. The unknown made her heart fear the worst of what lay behind the sheet. He grinned to her and gently dragged the sheet down the frame, “I bought every single painting he owned in his collection with one single muse in them. Over seven paintings held this woman. All incredibly expensive, but worth every pence, because I was enchanted by her beauty captured in oil paints and the hard sweat of Francisco Goya…but then I discovered the truth.”

_Oh god._

“The name…”

_Oh Jirak._

“And finally met the muse, I found her real beauty was tenfold…”

_Oh no._

“And her temperament twenty.”

_Please…_

The sheet billowed to the floor and landed at her toes. Her eyes watered at the sight of what was ever mirroring her face inside a memory of desperation. Calista felt weak at the knees and held a slight gratefulness for whence the orc held her by him, for if he hadn’t she would’ve fallen hard to the floor. It was pure evil that had come back to stricken her heart and destroy her from within. Her mind, her body, her wickedness to drown her purity she had sought out for so long. What the orc constantly exclaimed and named as ‘refinement’ was the very thing she had been fighting for in her mind and to forget the crimes of her past.

Brown eyes like hers but no longer the woman she wished to see again were solidified in the paint. When she knew Goya she had obeyed as his doll and moved to his wishes; all for a honourable and desperate purpose…which gradually turned to become her selfish pleasure and joy.

The woman she was, made her a monster of flesh and a haunting girl of addiction to the forbidden fruits…

Her mouth was dry, she was speechless, stricken with shock and a overwhelming need to scream.

The orc left her side and continued to pull the white covers away from the surrounding canvas’ revealing the past she tried to bury everyday for two years until he kissed her in the Dixon Garden.

The painting she stared at mocked her with her own painted smirk. Her body, nude was laid across the chaise and pillows of Goya’s art studio…it was her final modelling before she decided to find her control…Her breasts were limp and spread, her body positioned as though it was as phrased “Awaiting a lover.” Her naked self was beautiful but the site, the memory and the emotions were petrifying.

She trembled on the spot and saw the yellow gaze of the Orc staring down his triumph…he had won whatever game this was. He had destroyed all chances of her to prove herself and it made her wish for death instantly.

She swallowed dryly and gasped, “….Sir I-”

“Silence!” he growled from the bottom of his stomach. She obeyed like the bitch she felt she was now. She looked down and got to her knees. Her hands grasped as she soundlessly prayed for some dreamlike state to make up for this nightmare. If god was true, he would come to her aid and strike down the Orc Lord.

She could not ignore the cold steps of his cane. Like his greeting earlier, he lifted her chin with his cane and spat down at her with a prideful smirk, “I expect payment for many things, first your constant insults and untamed disrespectful nature. Second my care for you over these two days and the continuing care I will provide until your return home.”

Her bottom lip quivered, she now understood she would pay greatly for her sins even if they were originally meant to be honest and kind with generosity in payment.

“And finally third,” his teeth gleamed like a hungry bear, “The willingness to not reveal your nephew’s existence and location or further expose the scandals designed by your family name to the public of this shitty shire.”

Her heart ached and stretched. She would’ve preferred to have died in the rain or drowned in the river. Her stomach she couldn’t believe it; dropped further down, “Y-you know of T-Tomas?” a realisation hit her, Calista’s eyes widened up to him, “You know…everything.”

Calista wanted to figure out how he knew, no one bloody knew. Not even Santiago knew where Tomas was. Tomas’ existence was thin to the connection of the Flores family, but his location was even deeper in secret.

He balefully laughed and nodded, glee in his threats, “And so will the rest of the shire if you do not comply to my arrangements.”

Her lips released the building sob in her chest. She screamed, “What arrangement sir, cease your riddles! Tell me at once!” She wiped her eyes and whimpered, “I offered my own pocket money and you denied it!”

She cried hard, feeling her chest collapse. Why did this orc and god hate her so much!? Why was he doing this?!

He tapped her chin with his cane, “Stand.”

Her eyes glanced around from each painting to him as she stumbled to her feet. She felt like her apple was rising up her chest. Her ankles almost collapsed under her.

He closed his eyes slowly, “What I desire in payment is far more rewarding and therefore will fulfil the deal. Here is my offering, my arrangement…” He smiled and opened his eyes and caressed her trembling cheek, “For eveytime you allow me the pleasure to claim and consummate you; for a better lack of words ‘ _fuck you’_ \- I will honour you by burning a painting despite the beautiful efforts of Goya. No one would ever find out…” he chuckled, “Not even your family…” his eyes narrowed while his fingers smoothed into her scalp and gripped her hair gently tilting her head back, “You haven’t told them, have you? What you did?” his face leant closer until his nose touched her neck and inhaled deeply with a pleased sigh, “Just for some small money…”

Small money at the time was a lot for her and her family…she did what she had too… and if they ever found out she didn’t receive the money from the wheat mill like she said she had she didn’t think she could face the shame in their eyes, most importantly Rosalinda’s. There was no way for her to escape this. Lord Jakoby was outright blackmailing her.

A noise of distress and fear curdled out from her lips before she wailed, “You are a monster!”

“Yes…” He purred, “I am. Do you accept my deal?” His lips whispered against her hair.

“I have no choice…” she bleated, “Do I?”

“But you do,” he tutted and stepped slightly away, releasing her chocolate coloured locks.

“Accept this or do not, I truly do not care for your choice,” He shrugged and picked at his nails, “I will admit I wouldn’t mind delivering such gossip while looking at this painting by my entrance hall or guest parlour…” he laughed tapping her naked chaise self, “Quite the conversation starter, could you believe?”

She shook her head, this was just a terribly nightmare, surely. She didn’t know how any of this could be possible. How could he have found her? Goya knew she was stopping musing due to moving but she never told him where…

Her fingers shakily touched her lips as she shook her head with denial, “How have you orchestrated this?”

How could he do any of this? How had this been planned…when they met along the wall, was it a coincidence or…intentional for his wicked scheme?

“Miss Flores!” he chuffed in impatience, “Do you or do you not accept my deal!?”

She twisted her skirts in her hands, she never felt more trapped. She was risking her entire life…her family’s life…she would not fall into the same disdain her sisters had.

“As it is to be done without true escape I must,” She repeated, “I must…I will…” She shuddered, “I do…”

He was upon her in an instant, his large hand tearing her unto his lips, his tongue was rough and his mouth swallowed her lips. She gulped in his air and breath, feeling the hot transgressions rise in her…

He was the one to pull away first, her lips still moving to accommodate his cruel passions.

“Good,” he chuckled against her lips.

“Please do not hurt me,” she whined and squirmed against his.

He slowly shook his head and pecked her forehead, “I will do as I wish, but I am a kind lover…all you must do is sit and allow me to do as I will,” he exhaled heavily, “…and then I will burn a painting with you modelled in.”

She sniffled and felt a wound in her soul, how easily she succumbed to his wishes…Her fear now had moulded to what he was asking for in return other than the threat of what could happen if she does not please him. She had to be involved seven times for seven paintings. And she would be forced to stay in this house until the flood waters came down. Her mind was swimming in shame.

“…Wh-when will you?….call upon me to…” she couldn’t finish her sentence as she shuddered.

He purred and kissed her lips again, “I could now if you were to indulge me,” he winked and looked down between them. Her breasts were tightly pressed into his chest, each threatening to spill out from her neckline.

“…Indulge?” Her face paled, “…oh shit.”

He laughed at her lack of control and teased further, “Am I a fool to have held assumption of your lack in purity? Your virginity…It was lost to dear Goya?”

His hand that held her back and pushed her against him, now shoved her into the wall, his good knee forced itself between her legs, while his hand forced her skirt up and explored.

“Did you not whore yourself to his other muses?” he chuckled, “Did those pretty tan thighs not spread to every masters pecker?” a thick blue finger entered her warm pocket slightly slicked with her pure honey, “Did Senior Goya have fun inside of yo-” his eyes widened and his ears flicked down.

She shuddered loudly and glared at him as she felt him. She tightly squeezed his wrist, attempting to push him away and now biting the pain with her nails into his patterned skin.

He fell silent. His finger left her after a few personal swirls. His face heated up as he untangled her legs off of his pressing knee. His middle finger that he so rudely stuck inside her glistened from her inner moisture. He licked the inside of his cheek, unsure of how to respond. Wiping her essence across his slacks, he cleared his throat.

Calista was fuming with more hate than she could handle. She cried, “….you are a pig, sir!!” and she slapped his cheek as hard as she could.

It barely affected him, that however did not take away from the look of surprise from what he had discovered, “You’re intact,” his lips rumbled, “You’re a virgin, girl?”

“I am,” she fumed, “I was his ‘maja’ model, not a prostitute or one of _Señor_ Goya’s mistresses,” she rolled her eyes, and felt tears of frustration spill, “…I mused and degraded myself; I never let a single creature touch me,” she hiccupped, “…ever!”

The world fell heavy on her as she defended her womanhood purity. Her mind was sick but she had held strong for this long, she was proud of her virtue…but now she had agreed to throw it awa for her own mistakes.

He nodded slowly and sighed, leaning on his cane, “So, you’ve no knowledge of how to pleasure males?”

Shaking her head, she wiped her nose across her wrist and confessed still teary, “…I have read…[Fanny Hill](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Fanny_Hill:_Memoirs_of_a_Woman_of_Pleasure/Letter_the_First),” she shrugged and clapped her hands. What was the point hiding her knowledge now? If she was to suck him off on command, she would not be an overly naïve child. Yet nothing from the conversation was not humiliating, she was embarrassed beyond belief.

“Have you now?” His ears pricked up, “And where did a thing like you find the time and privacy to read such a sinful work?”

He walked forward with no real path, merely circling her as she fidgeted. She wanted to die and hide but she wanted to kill him and go home to her sister’s good counsel. He has stolen her first kiss and had shoved his finger inside her…he had humiliated her…and her feminine fumes swelled.

“Back in the city,” she hiccupped again, struggling to contain her voice, “It is Goya who provided the book to me.”

He was on her left, “Have you in its possession still?”

She shook her head and stood away. She didn’t like him circling.

“…no,” her back straightened as hairs rose on the back of her neck, “I burnt it in my fireplace…”

“You enjoyed it, then?” he purred by her right.

_Fucking vulture._

She was quick to dismiss it.

He chuckled, and smoothed his hand over her behind, squeezing the skirts of her dress and the roundness of her plush bottom. She jumped and grasped his hand, pulling him off.

“I smell your lies, Calista.”

 _No, no_ , she would not let him say it. She would not let her hear it on his foul lips. She would rather be whipped and stocked than hear it.

She sniffled, and swallowed a hard hiccup, “D-do not call me that!”

“What? ‘Calista’?” He poked her side with his cane, “Is that not your name?”

She groaned at the minor kick and growled, “It is disrespectful.”

“Is it? How?” he asked again lifting the edge of the dress Mizz Smith made for her.

“It just is,” she ripped the skirt away and crossed her arms, whining, “You have forced me to willingly give my virtue; can I not keep my title of respect?”

He slammed his cane on the floor and smoothed his thumb across her tear wet cheek, his face fell dark and serious, “No.”

He left her and opened the curtain backup and tugged her out, “Go back to my quarters, stay there. You may believe you are well but sickness can entail bursts of adrenaline, rest. I will meet with you for dinner…” He forced her into another kiss before shoving her away and smiling, “Then we can start our first session in exchange for the first out of seven paintings.”

He winked and let the curtain fall.

The curtain fell to end her forever. End what she ever held dear or tried to block from her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some milk? You're going to need it for next chapter....
> 
> Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman's Pleasure is my FAVOURITE smut from the 1700s.
> 
> https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Fanny_Hill:_Memoirs_of_a_Woman_of_Pleasure/Letter_the_First


	11. Chapter 11

# CHAPTER 11

* * *

_**1799, Tuesday, 9th, April** _

It was hard to follow back out of the art hall. She didn’t remember where the original exit was. She found herself into another part and different door which opened up to a library….

She swallowed and managed three steps after before bursting into sobs. And loudly did she sob. She wailed and leant against a bookshelf, choking on her tears. Calista couldn’t think in order and felt as long her mind was officially lost in hell where she assumed she belonged. She felt helpless, violated, branded and consensually aroused. She ripped off her small jacket and threw it to the floor. Where did it all go wrong?

Her back slid down the side of the shelf until her bottom hit the floor, she buried her eyes into her knees and let her chest wrack around while she screamed into her jacket. The cruelty of the world was now coming back onto her. First her sisters and now her. She knew somehow she deserved it, somehow it was her turn to face the shame…but why now!? The City her family could hide, now in the shires and peaceful small community everyone knew everything…if the scandal of hers got out how long until everyone knew of Patricia’s and Rosalinda’s, better yet how did the Orc know about little Tomas?

How much did her know and how much was she willing to pay to keep his mouth shut? How could she sell her virginity, but how could she not?

Calista breathed quick and shallow, her eyes feeling fuzzy and her head tired. She needed to pull composure. She smacked the floor and abruptly stood, big mistake; she felt sick and bile rose to her throat and into her mouth. Her hands clamped over her lips as she cringingly swallowed it back down. Walking proved easy but her feet felt like the were being moved under someone else’s command other than her own. Her head felt heavy, stonelike and pounding. She was her own torture.

Maybe it was true, maybe this proved right to Lord Jakoby’s theorem of her lack in refinement. She was behaving like an outright drunk! Swaying until she found another door in the library and continued to wave through the house until a Brezziker footman assisted her back to Lord Jakoby’s quarters.

When the door was shut she crawled from the door to the foot of the bed and bowed her head to pray.

* * *

Hours of more tears and screaming into pillows and mournfully looking out his window had passed. Now she had lit his bedroom candles as the sky faded dark.

Pacing was her saving grace. She was walking consistently from one wall of his room to the other. She had to get out of this mess. She couldn’t truly give herself up…seven times? Seven stupid paintings, seven stupid days of posing, seven stupid payments. She needed to somehow stop this…she needed to erase the evidence. _Who cared for what an orc said?_ If he told the entire prairie and world she mused, no one would believe him…but he had the actual paintings to prove his words.

Sitting on his bed she squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. There was a feeling of helplessness. Until she heard the wave of the candle. She opened her eyes and felt the ghost of a smile come to her lips. The little whipping it made when she breathed softly onto it brought her hope.

He said he would burn them…but what if she burnt them before he could?

Except it was too late to save her virginity…she didn’t know when he’d be back, it would be impossible to do it now. Could she sacrifice herself like that though? Could she let him destroy her? Was the risk of sacrificing one encounter worth the sparing of six?

What could she do? Deny him until the flooding is down? How could she do this? Any of it!?

It was the only thing she could do. Let him take her…’ _fuck_ ’ her and then burn the paintings herself when she left the bed. Surely he would not have her stay in his bed, men didn’t do that with their mistresses and lovers, only married people shared a bed. Her fingers trembled, she could not contain her fear and unexplainable excitement. She was terrified of what lustrous nonsense filled her skull. She scolded herself, all he would do is mount her surely and let her leave.

 _Lie still and breathe_. Fanny Hill and her sisters had taught her that many men do not confide in their passions and just take heat. She would only need to shut her eyes and brace herself until it was over. Risking a child was easily destroyed, if she could find a sponge, toad eggs maybe a hot bath if she could ask…or maybe he could empty himself somewhere else?

 _Oh god, oh Jirak!_ Now it was worse _. Do women get pregnant on their wedding nights? No, it can’t be?_ Oh but it could. This would be worse than Patricia’s scandal…a half breed bastard baby. No, she only needed to wash herself out even if it was icy cold water or boiling hot.

His door opened.

“Miss Flores…” He noted her as she sat on the bed.

She shuddered, “Lord Jakoby…” frozen on the mattress.

“Are you alright?” He asked closing the door behind him, turning slowly on his cane, “Mizz Smith and my other staff members claim to have heard your _wailing_ all afternoon.”

She sniffed and nodded, quick to rub her eyes before any new tears showed up. She swallowed and croaked, “I miss my family.”

Half said lies and he didn’t believe in it for one moment, but he was somewhat calmer.

He always appeared calm, however his face was softer and his smile was not insulting. The air around him was strong and intimidating, not cruel…she wouldn’t take the chance though, he could just as well snap back if he wanted too.

“You are scared about tonight?” He asked gently as he sat down beside her, holding his cane between his legs.

Her fingers curled into her skirts while she shuffled nervously, “Should I not be?”

“I am a harsh villain I am sure madam,” He sighed, and slowly reaching out and gripping her fingers into his massive hand, “but I am sure you will not be completely and utterly disagreeable with our temporary companionship.”

 _Companionship_ , she inwardly scoffed, _what in this isn’t disagreeable?_ She wanted to tear her hand away, but his fingers curled around hers and if she struggled there’s no doubt he could break them under his orc strength.

The door knocked again.

“Enter,” he called his eyes not leaving hers. In came Mizz Smith with a small trolley pushed to the foot of the bed. She barely lifted her face before curtsying and leaving, “Thank you.”

He picked up his cane and laid it across the bed, standing to his feet while still holding her hand. She was lifted up along side him and walked slowly to the trolley. Lifting the soft cover, a steam of cooked meat filled the air.

He held on to the trolley side tightly and threw the cover to the floor, “Let us eat? As an indoor picnic of sorts,” He exclaimed releasing her hands and picking up a plate of chicken breasts and vegetables before slowly tittering back to the bed and picking at it with a fork.

There were plenty of other plates of food. Meats such as chicken to duck and even pork were lining the small shelves of the trolley, hot soups and broth filled in bowls and warm freshly cooked bread sat fluffily around them. There was enough to feed her whole family for a whole day. Her nose twitched.

“No beef?” she muttered under a shelf.

She spooned a small cup of creamy soup and beans as she heard him chuff, “No, I do not allow beef consumption on this estate, it is a distasteful and fatty meat; many do not realise how much fattier a cow is.”

She nodded and plumped her bottom beside him, as she awkwardly sat and slurped from her spoon, “An unusual dinner.”

“Well,” he smiled, “Tomorrow you shall be well enough to dine with me on a table.”

The two ate their selected meals, the soup she drank was hinted with garlic and a sweet cream texture. She watched the meat he ate slip passed his lips, the roots of his tusks now round and at the bottom of his gums. His brows lifted.

“Is there something interesting by the way I consume my dinner, girl?”

She blushed, shaking her head. She was valuing this time, the time she had left before losing her purity officially. Her spoon collected its last full and passed her lips she savoured its flavour. She might ask for more or at least for the recipe.

Placing his empty plate and her bowl onto the tray, he slipped his hand into the bottom shelf and pulled out a dark bottle along with two glasses. Pouring out the drink, light gold bubbled into the two cups; one he handed to her, her fingers strangling its neck as she smelt from the rim.

“What is it?” she asked, not daring to swallow anything her gave to her, especially alcohol.

“Sherry,” he sipped and gasped, “Pino, you don’t seem old enough for oloroso; That is for soldiers and mature adults.”

Hesitantly she sipped it herself, tasting it and wrinkling her nose she gagged. She had never tasted anything dryer! Her orc companion smiled and took the glass from her, drinking it down himself. She winced, not understanding how he could so easily drink. Maybe he was the cause of Lord Dixon’s stupidity from the party….she wandered if Rosalinda could out drink the orc Lord?

He sighed set the cups aside.

As casually as asking the time he said, “I’d like for you to strip your dress now, do you need any assistance?”

Her lips felt light, and her tongue solid. Her feet shakily touched the floor and pushed herself up. She couldn’t believe it was happening…he was actually going to do this to her. How robotic her hands felt as unbuttoned her small jacket and slipped from her outer gown. Her feet slid out of her slippers, her feet in their stockings touched the cold carpet.

Calista made the mistake of looking at him as she stripped…he was not cruel, but he was starving with lust in his eyes. He was so silent it disturbed her further, the only sound in the room was her shallow breaths, clothing rustle and the clicks that the candles made as they fluttered.

She shred her petticoat and felt her fingers tremble. _Oh god_ she could not do this. Her fingers scrapped the eyelets and lacing before she realised her chances of removing the garment without his assistance was slim. Yet the thought of him touching her was repulsive…and would happen either way.

She felt her eyes water, sniffling at him, “The lacing of my stays, I cannot reach them.”

He wasn’t fast to help, he leaned on his hands and stared a few moments more before lifting himself up and limping towards her. Turning her around, he pulled at the small bow in of her corset and slowly tugged them loose. Her breasts secured tight were now softly settled and rested on her chest.

The only thing she wore now was her chemise…the muslin fabric practically transparent. The dark shaping of her nipples poked through, her hands cuddled herself protectively, she didn’t know if she was ready to accept it.

She felt him move away, with her corset in his hands. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it with a satisfied hum. She wanted to scream, he was so close to seeing her nude. He had seen the paintings but this was an entirely new embarrassment and humiliation. He was unbashefully staring, his ears flicked up with excitement as he stood back from her. 

Her eyes finally made contact to him and slowly untied the string straps, letting the shift fall around her ankles. In nothing but her stockings, she carefully stepped out of her gown.

She shaking fingers went to untie her knee garters before she heard the deep clearing of a orcs throat.

“Leave them on. Your hairpins, would you like my help?”

She shook her head. She was stark bare naked, her breasts sensitive to the air and the roundness of her bottom along with the small thatch of hair between her legs. Her trembling fingers pinched out the pins holding her hair up, untangling her subtle braids made by Mizz Smith. She sighed as each pin clattered to the ground by her feet. Her hair and soft curls cascading down her back...at one point she had considered selling her own hair, but it wouldn’t have made much to pay for what her family wanted. She moved it over her shoulder and onto her chest. She felt blessed to have at least some coverage.

The orc was now busy ripping off his red cravat his own navy waistcoat. He was wild in speed, and frantic with removing his shirt. When his hands clench the fabric he tore it off his chest, two buttons snapping off in the process. His dark chest, coloured like swirling marble of blue, green and purple was now exposed to her curious young eyes.

Calista had never considered…she had not thought upon this situation in which…she might actually desire this to happen. He was strong and built like an ox, like an orc, he was an orc. God he was beautiful…

Never would anyone describe an orc as beautiful, except that is what he was to her. His skin was hairless, but what made up for natural fur was the scars.

It was not as obvious at first, the lighting and his skin patterning, when he moved the scars made frightful glints. Three were deep and large. He was a retired regiment who had fought battles, how gruesome were they?

He sat on his bed and tore off his shoes before slowly taking down his breeches. She looked away, she was terrified of the member of men, better yet an Orc who was three times their size, she would not be surprised if it was said about their nether regions.

She heard him struggle and hiss, no doubt his leg the cause of such pain.

And finally…she heard him stop. She felt the floor creak as he stood behind her. His hands slipping onto her naked shoulders. She shivered and felt her spine spark with fire, his hands too hot for her delicate skin.

Such humiliation was lengthened as she was turned to face him, while she uncontrollable let out a mighty pitiful whimper. Her eyes were still tightly shut, unwilling to accept him.

“Poor little lamb…” He purred, “I promise to be as gentle as I can for tonight.”

His thumbs pressed into her soft skin of her cheeks, cradling her face in his palms.

She licked her bottom lips, “But how fair are your promises?” She shuddered.

He whispered into her ear, “You’ll have to find out. Open your eyes, Calista.”

It was hard enough for her to breathe, now to open her eyes felt impossible. Her long dark lashes fluttered at first, cracking open and looking up to his face, refusing to look anywhere below his massive chest. Her arms covered what she could of herself. His hot breath, smelt of the chicken and pino while blowing down onto her own face.

Heart pounding violently and getting louder and louder, Calista felt anxiety starting to kill her from inside. She didn’t know what to do as she stood below him, she only wanted this to be over, wanted her clothes on her body.

“M-may I kiss you?” She murmured hesitantly.

He replied softly as he guided her to sit onto his bed, “You may, if that will give you pleasure.”

She shook her head, it would not. Her hand sifted and cupped his face forcing his eyes to hers, “I would like you to kiss me too when I kiss you.” It was the only thing that might make the wicked deal at least softer, or distract her from the…attachment. Fanny Hill described the torture it was, followed by pleasure, but how could a brutish beast like Lord Jakoby give her a feeling of joy?

He nodded and leant forward to capture her kiss. When they parted, her eyes took a quick regrettable glance below. She almost screamed. It wasn’t what she was expecting, it was worse.

She gasped and covered her eyes shaking her head, “I am to be ruined to any man or creature who wishes to marry me.”

He would kill her! It was not possible for her to take his beast. He was like a horse! It was the thickness of her wrist!

He laughed, and forced her hands down, “I guess you will have to marry me, then!” he kissed her cheek.

“Do not be absurd,” she moaned mortified, “Comedy does not suit you at all Lord Jakoby!”

The thought she would have to consummate and lay with him for the rest of her life was terrifying.

His smile fell, as he rolled his eyes and chuffed, “I shall refrain from sharing my humour then.”

His hand pushed her down into his many plush pillows with a harshness she yelped with. Her hair fell away from her breasts and spread across the pillows and sheet. Her nose twitched as his body crawled atop of hers. large blue hands smoothed down her waist and petted her stomach before spreading her legs and staring deep into her inner folds.

Her legs shook with fear and excitement. His yellow gaze constantly flickered between her face and her soft lower lips. The orc wrapped her legs around his waist, his cock flatly sat over her womanhood while he bent down and shoved his tongue into her mouth. His hands smoothed over her body, softly gripping her hips and bottom while he kissed her. Parting away, a string of saliva connected their lips.

His fingers were difficultly moving between then, his tip touching the slid of her honey hole.

“Breathe…” He said with wide eyes holding what almost seemed to be concern, “Inhale and exhale slowly. Take a breath in now and let it out when I enter.”

She nodded, as he advised her. Oh god it’s happening, he’s going to take her virgin blood. She shut her eyes again and felt him press, his part felt like a pole covered in velvet skin. Her stomach curdled, no one told her that’s what the male machine would feel like.

When he pushed in as she exhaled, only to choke. It stung, it sung so bad she didn’t care about her tears. Her insides were being forced to pull open and it was like her menstruation had arrived. Her mouth opened to scream before Jakoby covered her mouth.

She shook her head and clawed her chest, weeping into his palm, “I can’t, please, it hurts, stop!”

She whimpered and sobbed, it wasn’t what she expected, she thought it would just pop like her sister said and then be over! This was an unholy torture, how could anyone or any woman find enjoyment in this!

“You are fine, I promise you are alright, what we do in the first session will sting.”

Her mother, oh dear god and heavenly hosts combined; how did her mother take this from her father? Four times? Her sisters told her that she would find, as the French called it ‘orgasme’, the blissful high of sex. How would she find a high, or did her sisters cruelly lie?

Her nails dug deep into his shoulders, hoping he would remove himself and his tearing member.

“N-no this is worse, please, please!” Her eyes rolled back in agony. Her legs weakly kicked the air, to painful to move any part of her body. She felt like sandpaper grinded against a stone.

_Fanny Hill, written by a man; of course who knew nothing in the pleasure of a woman would write such sinful and disgusting tribble!_

And then it stopped. He stopped moving and let her cry as much as she wanted. She shook with her sobs, her chest shaking and her eyes puffing up.

“Look,” the orc whispered and kissed her cheek, “See? You’re a big girl, you’ve taken me in quite snugly.”

He lifted her head and lifted his body a slight so she could see them together. That was it, she was not a virgin anymore…she was sitting by his hilt, down to the floor of his cock. Her lips parted and her crying fell short. A small hill on her lower abdomen had manifested. Her trembling hand touched it; hard as stone covered in her soft flesh...that was him, inside her tiny body. She felt light, near faint.

Her insides felt like ice and fire, prickles and swords, and full like she was ready to push out a week of food…

“Wh-what are we-” she gasped, “This isn’t-.”

She moved to quickly and the two both hissed. Lord Jakoby roughly grasped her hip and shoved it down onto the mattress, holding her down so she didn’t continue squirming.

His laugh came out with a slight hiss and groan, “Easy Miss Flores, you’ll hurt both of us.”

Yellow eyes but her caramels, his narrowed as he stayed as still as he could, “You are correct. You are a virgin; we both need to wait so we can both accept each other. You feel full yes?”

She nodded and breathed out heavily through her nose, she felt like how she imagined pregnancy felt.

He chuckled and moved some hair from her sweating face, “Well to me it’s like trying to fit a thick piece of wool into a tiny needle eye.”

She nodded again, he could feel pain too, like he was being strangled, good. Suffer.

The two melded into that position for minutes and minutes, just breathing and staring at each others bodies. He looked so huge, bigger when he was on top of her. The anticipation was too much, her heart started to beat again and her anxiety race.

“Wh-when do we move?” She groaned, wincing.

Her orc Lord held her hips tighter and murmured into her ear, “Just give me a moment…”

Her nerves were settling in her area, she felt numb, her walls stretched but the stinging lessened.

Finally Jakoby bent down and kissed her, unspoken yet warning her. His hands gripped her hips and his pulled away ever so slowly until she felt his head sit just inside. He took a massive breath, his chest shaking as he stared at only her face and pushed himself back in.

She was wrong again…so…so…wrong…it was bliss. It was sore but something bursted open. She felt unleashed from invisible binds. She felt his trembling and vibrations shake through her and into her core, into her chest.

“Again,” she unconsciously spat.

She heard him choke, “Pardon?”

“D-do that again,” she moaned, and tried her hardest not to move, “Out and push in again.”

Shaking his head his face lifted into a proud grin, “Enjoying it are we?” her mouth tightened, “I shall indulge in your sweet commands.”

And so he did it again…and again…and again. Her inner walls and blood covered him, slicking his way inside of her. His member was touching a part that she didn’t imagine existed. He was pounding in and out and tapping at the part that made her tickle. She sighed and moaned and melted beneath him.

But then she didn’t like the ticklish feeling…she felt like she needed to use the pot. She moaned and pressed her legs into his thighs.

“I- Lord Jakoby, stop!” she shrieked, “Stop I’m going to wet myself, please!”

She saw his lips curl into a smiling snarl, “No.”

She lifted her hands and slapped his chest, trying to flip him off, but his weight and strength were too over powering. Her insides felt tighter and finally she screamed and let loose her muscles over him.

As she rode out this feeling of black pure energy, she felt him continue his rutting and after two minutes, he chuffed and groaned and choked before she felt a massive warmth in her. She felt this small movement, like a heartbeat from inside of him, pressing into her. He hissed and tightened his hold on her hips. His cock was pulsating while he choked and let himself reach the French orgasme. Her insides at one point felt full, but then it was like a trickle of thick water being run into her.

She herself choked, embarrassed and disgusted. Very slowly he pulled out and moved her thighs out of the way so he could fall onto his side beside her.

She sniffled, she felt gaped and open, vulnerable and empty literally. Her shaking hands wiped her face as she moaned.

“Y-you’re disgusting.”

He laughed, croakily, “Am I?”

“How can you…” she shut her eyes, “In my own filth, inside me even?”

He stole her hand and forced it between her legs down to touch the covers of his bed, “Touch.”

“I swore I…” the bed was dry….

Insulted is how she felt when she heard him laugh at her confusion.

“You’re pleasure was reached and released around me. If you did soil me…” he grasped his own member, letting it shrink back into a skin sheeth.

“It wouldn’t have disturbed me either way. If I were to marry you…” he sighed happily as he casually dipped his fingers between her legs and slipped a scoop of wetness from her, “My first task in our passion would be to lay my claim in scent,” holding up his two fingers was a sticky and clear with hints of white, it smelt awful, her nose wrinkled, “This my naïve girl is what designs babes inside of your womb.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. Her body felt broken and weak, like how she felt this very early morning, and he claimed to have been gentle with her?!

“That still makes you disgusting, if not more,” she said snootily.

He barked with laughter, “In orc culture it’s romantic and honouring for husbands and wives.”

An odd custom. It truly showed her how little of orcish lifestyle she understood. She carefully pushy her naked body up, her stockings now fallen to her calves as her legs flipped over the edge. Her vagina screamed with stinging burns and sore inner bruising.

“Shall I leave you then?” She asked as she tried to stand.

“Wait you-“

Her entire body collapsed to the floor, her knees hitting the hardest, “Mother of Joseph!” she yelped.

“-shouldn’t move, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

He dragged himself across the mattress and lifted her by her armpits back ontop of the bed. She hissed but allowed him to manhandle her, not intending to harm her.

Carefully he peeled the sheets under her bottom and guided her legs beneath the blankets. When she and he were covered and now resting into his pillows, Calista felt him tug her waist and force her to dip into his chest and shoulder, his arm almost protectively covering her back, drawing small circles into her arm.

She bit her lip. What was this? Why wasn’t he making her leave? Why was he holding her with tenderism and softness? Why did she so willingly press her small body against his hot one. Her core was sitting on his thigh and hip. Her breasts cozily nestled into his ribs. His muscles hard but comforting against her face and hand.

“W-why cuddle me up?” she whispered, afraid the speak any louder for the sake of the universe knowing more.

He pleasingly hummed and pressed his nose into her hair as he whispered back, “Because I desire the smell and warmth, you need it too but do not know it or will not confess it.”

“I-”

“Hush now, close your eyes and let your body heal while you sleep. I am a kind lover, but I never said I was gentle, only for tonight I was.”

Although not known for her obedience and silence, Calista did not refuse him anymore. She shut her eyes and listened to his beating heart and slow, deep breathing, the candle light still burning, but dimming as there wax melted the fire to extinguish. She lulled into rest and remembered the lines of Fanny Hill about the character little Louisa.

_Poor Louisa, however, bore up at length better than could have been expected; and though she suffer'd, and greatly too, yet, ever true to the good old cause, she suffer'd with pleasure and enjoyed her pain._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning Happy Couple <3....or not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, I have been away for too long! Lots of malfunctions with a laptop, so I'm writing on my brand new touch screen HP, MEGA FLEX and I feel like a god!

# CHAPTER 12

* * *

_**1799, Wednesday, 10th, April** _

Calista felt the world sink into a warmth by his side and when she woke up…her face was lying on a hot smooth surface. She didn’t open her eyes. Surely Rosalinda would wake her up soon….

She could hear her shuffling around the room and open and closing their cupboard. She dug herself deeper into the pillow and lifted the blanket weakly back up to her chin. Rosalinda however was being loud and frankly it was annoying…couldn’t she just come back to bed and sleep?

She moaned and took her pillow and threw it at Rosie. When Calista heard and stumble, she cracked her eyes open to look at her and whisper for her to get back to bed….last time she checked however, Rosalinda didn’t have green skin and black eyes….

“My god,” she threw herself up and gasped, “Mizz Smith!”

The Gobliness huffed and set the pillow at the foot of the bed, under her arm was Calista’s stripped clothes, “It is none of my business…”

Her black eyes glanced to Calista’s left side. A tiny, smile was set on her wrinkled lips. When her own eyes followed she saw Lord Jakoby facing his back, completely naked of the sheets she has stolen. The bottom of her belly continued to grow. His blue arse strongly kept while his large legs curled on the bed. His wide back made him a mountain to behold. A mountain covered in jagged and criss-crossed lines, lighter in the blues and green tones; more pink and thick…wounds, scars….whip marks.

Her face was scrunched and a swell of humiliation, confusion and guilt all came hitting the poor young woman at once.

She heard the departure of Mizz Smith and felt her chest swell up, she was close to crying. Oh god. Mizz Smith knew. Now the deal meant nothing! She lost her virginity to a brute for the sake of her own individual reputation that would be easily destroyed by the simple words spread of the gobliness housekeeper. She flipped onto her knees and with a cry she started to punch her bed partner. It was not fair! Tears melded down her pinking cheeks, all horror in her yelling. It was not long for Jakoby to stir, growling while holding her chest away, her wrists caught in his large hand. Obscenities dripped from her mouth scripted by her native tongue.

“Pinche mentiroso! Pinche pendejo idiota!”

He sat up and with annoyance in his face he yelled back at her, “What is ever the matter you madden woman?!”

She angrily yelled, “Your housekeeper saw us!”

He sighed and pinched his nostril, his ears flicking up and flapping. This made her furious, he clearly didn’t care, it made her feel used and disgusting, it made her feel scared; vulnerable and helpless.

“Who? Mizz Smith?” He laughed and climbed off his bed gradually, still nude he wondered to his window and peered through the curtains, “Worry not, she’s an excellent keeper of secrets and already presumed we were fucking before.”

His blue arse staring her in the face she blushed and held a pillow up to her chest and tucked her mouth and chin into the wool. She wiped her eyes into the fabric and whimpered, “I cannot see as too why she would think that of us…” she gasped, her eyes widened, “How would you know…how deplorable are you sir??” she shuddered and threw the pillow at him, “Am I not your first victim!?”

He huffed at the feeling hitting his back. Turning around she saw his morning glory from the previous night and choked on her own words. He sneered and pelted the pillow back at her harshly. While she was quickly blinded, he climbed a top of her and sat on her wriggling legs. Heavy was an understatement, he was painful, like a stone figure just weighing down onto her small body.

His nose pressed to her cheek as she turned away, like a trapped mouse of sorts.

“You think I let you sleep alone whilst you were ill?” he chuckled and traced his nose up to her ear as he hissed, “No I was not willing to risk the chance of you thrown in a fit to which you’d choke yourself to death.”

She told herself to stop crying, but his golden eyes tore a terrible sob out from her chest.

“….did you take advantage of me!?” tiny hands shoved into his boulder shoulders weakly to no success.

“Does it matter?” he chuckled and kissed her savagely. Without hesitation, she bit down hard onto his bottom lip. He hissed and tore away…below his bottom lip she could she where her teeth had torn his skin, grazing a tiny layer off…

She gulped, “Indeed sir, for your character has stained itself in hell already; confess your wrongdoings and have clear conscious if such a thing is possible to you.”

His hand was quick to snap up and grasp her jaw and part of her neck…fragile as a chicken bone and just as easily breakable. Jakoby glared with annoyance and a cautious threaten. Her air was sucked out, and up came a cry. She could barely breathe and couldn’t get away from him. He released her neck and jaw, only to slip and tug her air, forcing her head back. Her neck was bared to him with a cry of shock. His nose pressed roughly into her neck, below her ear….

He purred….and whispered into her ear, “I did not Miss Flores. And I am very sure you would have known if I was dear, especially after last evening’s events…besides…I prefer if my lovers are aware and willing…to a degree of course.”

His large hot mouth pressed into her skin, a wet kiss that had her spine shivering down to her toes. Her body shuddered.

“Lord Jakoby if I…” She swallowed and laid still as he belayed more kisses over her neck and shoulder, the wood of the headboard was all she could see, the red curtains swallowed her up, “If I had said no?” she continued, “You would not have bed me? Is my presumption accurate?”

Hearing her, he froze and sat up onto his legs, peeling away from her. Her eyes caught the sight of his member, bobbing down and...shrinking back into it’s shealth. He was losing she arousal and regaining his control over such lustful hunger. His eyes changed, soften. He snorted and rubbed his bald head and nodded.

He was an orc, thank god he was not a rapist…

“Indeed and if you do not wish to continue on our bargain I will respect your desires and leave you be,” as she sighed with relief he smirked and went on to say, “but your painting would remain intact and my lips might be loose to some information…”

Sitting up herself she scoffed and ripped the blanket away, “You’re such an arse!”

Slipping off the bed, her stocking covered feet touched the floor and slowly stepped over to his closet. She knew everyman kept a dressing gown either beside the bed or inside the closet. With their clothes stolen by the housekeeper, she had no choice but to steal his spare clothes.

Opening up the wooden doors she heard the smug tone in his voice, “While I do have a fine view of yours…” she took the overly sized banyan and slipped her arms inside of it. The warmth and the his heavy scent was like an overwhelming and intoxicating hug. “I might take that too.”

Her head snapped back at her bulky lover, spread along the bed, unashamedly baring himself.

_Where’s that damned stick?! I’ll fucking bash him bloody in those bedsheets with it…_

Slamming the doors shut, she wrapped herself up tightly and felt her breath waning, “You would commit sodomy?” her eyes filled with scorn, venom in her spit, “Have you any dignity?”’

She refused to let racism fill her mind, not all orcs were like him. If he was a sodomite then that was his crime, not his peoples. Such sin, to take that hole. Knowing the pain of her maiden head she could dare to think of what his cock could do to her small bottom. A terrifying reality however was creeping over her shoulder and up to her ear…. _what shall I do if he demands it in return for a painting?_

The creature though like human but most definitely orc, licked his lips and lifted himself back out of his bed. His back too ugly to gaze at she turned her eyes to the pillows while she heard his slow limping up to her side. She stood away from the closet, assuming that was his goal, but his hand slipped down between them…thick blue fingers gently pulled the string of the banyan. The silk slithering out of its knot, floated to their feet. Her throat felt tight…was he going to again? Her core was not stinging but it was most incredibly sore and it was painful to walk.

Slipping down, he unexpectedly cupped her bare arse, squeezing her fat cheek in his palm, he hummed with a unusual approval.

“….possibly…” he said gently, moving his palm back to her waist and flipping her around, her back pressed into his massive front, cock limp still. His fingers dug down and cupped her cunt gently. The lord tapped her thighs as if asking permission, when they parted a slight, his rough fingers scrapped across her lips and grazed her clit. Her breath caught, she almost screamed from the sparks that flew. Cupped in his large hand she could feel his large middle finger invade her pussy. Her hands flew to her mouth while she moaned. She didn’t want him to hear, but she was so vocal it was impossible to hide her happy sighs. She grounded onto him wantonly, abandoning the memory of their complex relationship for a split moment.

He was holding her tight back into him, I her ear again, his deep voice caused a thunder to rise in her cunt, “I hear amongst the French it is an exceptionally strange pleasure. I never did it because it cost a little extra with the whores and they didn’t accept orc soldiers….yet I know I’d do this while I press my cock into you…stretching you, turning you into a bagnio girl…”

Bagnio girl…a bathhouse whore.

Tears of hatred rose in her. The slick covering his hand was putrid and shameful, but her hips were slamming into his finger? She couldn’t stand this weakness, she couldn’t bare this for too long. How much of a whore was she now? A true whore, paid not even with money, but with the ripping sanity of social acceptance and safety.

If her mother or father knew, she’d be casted to the streets… even with her sisters past discretions, this was possibly the worst. Fucking a orc over some paintings…if Mizz Smith let the news spread, was this her future she was experiencing? Being fucked on a dirty finger in the gutter of a wet muddy street? Arrested for prostitution and forced to be a convict…never to have a chance to find happiness or see her family again.

She mumbled her words, words that were easily heard and instantly obeyed by the orc.

“St-stop please.”

He pulled away, finger angrily tearing out of her and leaving her feel a tiny cramp from the emptiness. Cold sweat was gleaming her dark forehead while her caramel eyes were in another hell watching. Her shaking fingers found the silk belt of the dressing gown and trembled as she tied herself back up.

Turning back to him, she quietly asked, “When do you wish to perform again? When do you want me to…indulged you and successfully copulate?”

His face showed nearly no emotion as he smacked her hands down and tore open the silk belt open again, this time he tied it himself, tugging one side of the gown over top of her torso and tightening the rope.

When he was finished, his pinky wiped across her forehead, moving loose curls from her teary eyes and red cheeks.

“Later…” He cleared his throat and moved around her to his closet, “I will call on you when I desire your presence.”

Tugging on another covering of his own, a navy blue near black to the eye, he turned around hobbled back to his side of the bed to collect his walking stick, “Come, we shall dine on breakfast in the garden, it’s a sunny day and not a cloud in the sky. Marvellous. I am sure the flood waters shan’t affect us.”

He said with a small smile on his lips while he walked around the bed.

“I cannot.”

His head snapped up. Calista shook her head and tittered to the covers again. Sitting on the comfortable spread she couldn’t reach his eyes. It was too much for her, she couldn’t eat with him after he just stuck his finger in her and called her a bagnio girl.

“I…am sore…” she explained. Not entirely a lie.

She heard him gradually step to stand above her and lean against the frame of the canopy rather than his own cane.

“Normally I would be kind,” he sighed, “normally I would be patient too, that time however has come to pass Miss Flores….” The handle of his cane pressed under her chin and into her throat. She gasped and glanced up to his face of utter annoyance, the same sneer he gave her at the party and when they first met. “You either walk down with me, or I will carry you over my shoulder.”

She choked and snorted loudly, crossing her arms and moving away from his rude cane, she jerked her chin at him, “You can’t lift me, your cripple body wouldn’t make it a single step without dropping me!”

“An extraordinary observation,” he replied dryly, “yet a theory that should be tested before proven, yes?”

His arms moved to grabbed her and she screamed. They both knew it wasn’t possible except it was a threat big enough to have her rising to her feet in front of him.

“Good, now then we will eat breakfast in the garden.”

As he hobbled to the door, a pillow was launched at his head.

She stomped her foot, “You are insufferable!”

“Am I? Well,” He licked the inside of his cheek while he tapped the pillow at his feet, “Shame it is but I seem to have left all my moral consciousness in your wet cunny.”

Spit flew from his filthy mouth and had Calista more disgusted, she scowled and grasped another pillow, “You are foul!” she snapped as the pillow flew; this one he tucked away from. His golden eyes flared.

“Are you attempting to bully me?” he growled.

“It is not bullying when I state the facts of your behaviours with supplement evidence.”

He took a deep breathe, and sternly brought his cane to the floor. His teeth peered out like a bears, if he had tusks she would not be standing, she would be leaping out of his window.

Hooking his cane over his writs he lifted his hands and clapped slowly, “Bravo Miss Flores,” he mocked, “You’ve but dug yourself a pit as you have provided to me the proper tools in allowing myself to view you as possibly nothing short of a desperate child-whore. Allowing and assisting the imagery of your maiden self be shared to those of immoral minds by Goya, you have sold your purity to twenty men before I could even take your own blood. Tell me now, because you do not seem to know when to shut up; do you really believe you can affect me with your words? I am-was of his majesties regiment. Your words are like sour chicken eggs; soft to touch, but the stench near unbearable.”

Calista was stand still, this was not the first time he insulted her, yet he was always threatening and a cloud of power was always behind him. It was the power of money, power of class, power of nature…she had no words, she did know how to reply. Lord Jakoby was most definitely wrong and his accusations were hurtful, there was one thing in his words however that didn’t sit right with her.

“Chicken eggs?” she mumbled.

“And your small mindedness to your own insults is pitiful to your schooling-”

“No,” she cut off his next speech, “I never have been compared to poultry…” she took a deep breath and held back tears, she could bite back, “Shall I compare you to farm animals as well? A savage bull maybe? No,” she smirked unashamedly, “a pig perhaps.”

Now never had she said that to an orc. His nose lifted, and instead of yelling or raising his voice to scare her, he let a mean and skin crawling smile slip onto his lips.

“And you a bitch?”

He chuckled “Woof!” he smiled wider as her face fell and reddened, “Panting over a cock, despite your claims in Goya or his muses never touching you? I do not believe you. You don’t need to lose your virginity to take cock into your mouth, or to be fucked on a finger.”

She raised her fists and choked, “Get out.”

He shook his head, “No, these are my chambers, come now, or I will drag you by your hair. And I will make sure every servant and farm hand in my employment sees you.”

Her chest was tight and her lips wobbling as she forced her way passed him, shoving him into the wall beside the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you can forgive me and have a glass of milk?


	13. Chapter 13

# CHAPTER 13

_**1799, Wednesday, 10th, April** _

Marching out of his room she made the mistake of pushing an orc. Behind her she felt him come with no time to see and escape. His large hand wrapped around her right wrist and hauled her to face him and force her onto her toes.

“Cease this behaviour you arrogant brat,” he seethed into her face, “Do not be rude or else I will call of this engagement of our little painting collection bargaining.”

She tried ripping away from his strong grip, why did they always end up in this situation? She walks away and he drags her back? 

“Do you continue to entertain upon the promise?” she rolled her eyes and yanked back. The shoulder of the borrowed banyan was slipping down her shoulders, exposing a nipple. Gasping she struggle to pull it back up while his leering yellow eyes unbashfully starred.

“Will you burn the paintings?” 

“Only one for _fucking_ you last night,” he grunted.

Calista flinched at his harsh words, her fingernails scratched his hand and watched the orc release her.

She shook her head at him, “I have never hated a male more than I have you,” she turned around and waited for him to walk in front and lead her outside.

The house was still that of a maze to her however, she recognised a similar corner and hall to the arts room, but they continued to pass it until they stepped into the cool morning air and warm early sun. The chairs and tables were awaiting them. A male Brizzik came stepping out behind them just so he could pull out the chairs for Lord Jakoby and his reluctant ‘guest’. Jakoby requested their breakfast silently.

Calista refused to acknowledge him while she crossed her arms and pouted. The thought his cock had gone within her caused her to shiver, to agree willingly to a monstrous creature; his personality did nothing to reflect his person.

“Sullen like a child then? How predictable.” 

She could hear the snide grin in his voice, and scoffed, “How could my mood be so predictable, you know little of myself.”

He chuckled and lifted his bad leg up and over his thigh, setting his walking stick beside the table, “I wouldn’t say that, I have a fancy collection of art and a reflecting memory of you moaning beneath me and another where you relieved your bowls along with a fascinating count of your families reputation, but no you are ever so right, I know little about you.”

She sighed and looked to the landscape. Beneath them was a garden, one that was magnificent and incomparable to the Dixon’s, and the flood water that had invaded half of it. Despite the dirty brown, light reflected on the water and sparkled. His eyes were glued to her. 

“You said,” she began hesitantly, “You told me you were a…doctor? In the war?”

He hummed, “Yes, that’s right.”

_Silence._

She didn’t think this through. How can someone so involved in insulting her be so suddenly quiet on his own life. Men, especially soldiers loved to talk about their lives and times in battle. Of course with the censorship to a poor woman’s ears. They made it out that war was fun, murder was exempt in the eyes of god and that it was a great honour to die in cross fire…most of the young men called her young brother a coward and never saw France…why did they lie and hate even who wasn’t human?

“How did they let an Orc…I mean-”

“Demands required it,” he interrupted, “I was fast and resourceful unlike other surgeons who thought cutting off limbs could cure everything.”

She nodded, _that’s it keep asking him, he’ll talk._

“What happened to your leg?”

His eyes twitched, his ears perked and his jaw locked, _he’s mad oh shi-_

“Did your parents not educate you the proper politeness when asking upon a permanent injury? You shouldn’t ask the blind man why he cannot see.”

Beneath the table her fists clenched. Something in his voice mad her angry and also itchy, below.

“Yes they did, I elected to ignore their lessons. And if you are-”

Out from the doors came walking servants with large silver trays and a pot of steaming tea.

“Breakfast, my lord,” the Brezzik laid the trays before them and lifted the bowl lids, “Porridge and bread.”

What a surprise, a rich orc like him eating, “Peasant food?” she whispered. She scrunched her nose and starred at the watery sludge. When she made porridge it wasn’t this grey looking…

The servant was pouring his tea for him as he laid his napkin across his lap.

“Ever so humble Miss Flores,” The Orc sighed, and pointed at her sad looking bowl, “The porridge will help you pass easily and clear your sickness and inner illnesses.” Lifting the cup to his lips he drank smugly. He waved his hand and his servants left.

She rolled her eyes. Looking down at her fists she took a deep breath and spat, “I want my own room.”

“Excuse me?” he choked, little bit of milk dripping down his chin, before he wiped it away.

“With my stay,” she traced her finger over the rim of her empty teacup, “I would prefer to stay in another bedroom other than your quarters,” she caught him smirking and shaking his at her, “A woman needs a sense to herself, sir.”

“I am aware of what you mean,” he laughed and set his cup aside, wiping his hands, “however you lacked a specific set of words in your demands.”

When she squinted her eyes and her lips opened for question he barked, “Manners, Miss Flores.”

She hissed through her teeth and slapped her hands on the table, the silverware clattered and the tea spilled out for his cup, “When you’ve ruined a woman, do you believe you deserve manners?”

He leaned over the table and grabbed her jaw, “Try again Miss Flores,” he growled, “how about a ‘please’ with a sweet and respectful ‘Lord Jakoby’?”

She smacked his hand away, and rolled up the sleeves of the banyan, and threw him a bras d’honneur gesture, something Jakoby saw a lot from French prostitutes who refused service to him.

“Vete a la verga,” she spat and kicked the table.

“I can tell by your tone, that wasn’t very ladylike.”

“Cojiendome para que no enseñes pinturas de mi no es algo que un hombre ase!” she huffed. Pinching her nose she groaned, she wouldn’t be sleeping alone tonight.

Seeing him grinning at her was enough to have need to punch him, but he was much larger and stronger; she couldn’t risk him harming her and blackmailing her. She shuttered.

 _Shut up and ignore him, eat the food and vomit later on a plant._ Her fingers danced over the bowl and couldn’t find any utensils.

“What’s wrong? Too hot?” Jakoby snorted. Resting his chin onto his knuckle. _Puta._

She curled her lips in and glared at the lord, “He didn’t leave me a spoon…”

Metal gleamed in the sunlight as he lifted his own to her face, “Oh dear, and here I have one.”

When she reached out for it, he jerked it back. Steam came from her nose. Slapping the table top she sneered, “Please give me the spoon.”

He waved his finger at her, “Ugh ugh ugh, who are we to talking to my dear?”

_An arrogant male Orc with a authority complex on his status with society..._

Her spine rattled as she sighed hard and gritted through her words unwillingly, “Please, Lord Jakoby, may I have your spoon?”

Handing it to her he said, “Much better.”

She wouldn’t let him be satisfied, as she ate she attempted to be the grossest, unsullied, rudest eater. Porridge dripped down her chin, she chewed with her mouth open and slurped very loudly. She smugly sucked the spoon and throwing it down into the bowl a little sludge flew up and landed onto his cheek.

Whipping it away, he piped up, “You like being talked down to.”

“I do not,” she gargled with porridge, denial behind the tone.

“It wasn’t a question…” he chuckled and wiped his napkin over his nose, “I can smell you.”

She swallowed tightly and before she could argue the orc leant back and threw his small white towel at her.

“Mister Bowater, Lawrence!” he called loudly to the house, two servants were quick to run to his side, “Please fetch a chamber maid or Mizz Smith if you can; my guest requires a change in…” he looked her up and down, “from her current attire. Mister Lawrence please bring my outside attire and hat, I’ll change in my office, I shall be getting very dirty today.”

The one she presumed was Bowater leant to the Orc’s ear and whispered, “And after Miss Flores has been changed?”

Nicholas didn’t look away from her as he boredly said, “Take her to the art gallery, library, piano; let herself be amused.”

“Yes my lord,” said Bowater, “My lady right this way.”

Calista rose from her chair and lifted her chin as she walked back into the house, Lord Jakoby shook his head, smiling as he felt the scent waft away with her. _Poor stubborn thing_.

* * *

Mizz Smith wasn’t available to help her change, but a small orcish maid who was somewhat mute helped her. The dress she wore wasn’t a curtain cutoff, she was fitted into another gown, a outdated dress from a chest upstairs is what she was told. It was a little loose, but it would do.

She took the time to think of her family in the safety of the Dixon household. What kind of stress was her mother causing, pressuring Rosalinda and Lord Dixon? What mourning she felt for her sister. Surely Patrica and the twin crows girls were getting along.

She asked the girl to take her to the gallery. She wanted to see the paintings, her paintings, the past she thought she left behind for good.

She remembered the many nights after along day posing she’d have a bag of coins and then offered to stay behind to partake in sex; she’d say no everytime and that transaction was respected. She remembered the many nights she’d walked down her street in the cold and walk passed the wagons of coal from the mines, she’d cover her hands in the dust and wipe them over her face. Working for a mill was dirty work…but it didn’t pay enough unlike when she got naked for Goya. When she’d come home her Mother and Father would welcome her, Rosalinda would be holding her little girl’s blanket her body covered in mourning black. Patricia would be breast feeding Tomas, still trying to figure out when they’d send him away up north with distant relatives.

The hallways were cold just like the backstreets were in the city. She took a deep breath and walked into the little round room, like a wall of mirror memories. Her face was painted delicately, Goya softened her body and made her beautiful...yet also shameful. Her thighs pressed together seeing her body in compromising positions.

It was when she first felt her body react in the ways of a woman. The studio was always warm, smelt like paint and imported incense. Her body was relaxed but exposed to the world. It was an escape from the suffering.

Her fingers touched the canvas’, the dry paint was callous. She needed to burn these herself. If he gave Calista her own room, she’d be able to sneak out and take them outside at night, throw the broken frames into the flood waters, let them drift away.

Her hands were shaking.

But she wasn’t getting her own room…

She hated these paintings, because she enjoyed what she had done like how she enjoyed what Jakoby had done to her and that made her a sinning monster…

She stomped her foot and bit her finger.

These were the last time she’d come here until she sorted out a plan to burn them all….

She walked out and went through library until she wandered down a few stairs and found the kitchens. A large space, a space as big as her fenced backyard.

A massive table in the middle, she assumed servants sat here and ate their meals. By the sinkside she heard a feminine hum. Oh no.

She deserved an apology the poor gobliness. Needed to explain herself.

When she turned around she gasped and smiled brightly, “Morning there Miss Flores.” In her green claws was a jug and a cup.

“Mizz Smith I….” Calista choked up, she was embarrassed to mention it; yet she needed to in order to be passed this feeling if it was even possible.

“Lemonade dearie?” Mizz Smith smiled softly, setting the tray down onto the table and carefully reaching out to the girl. Touching her pinking cheek. Her black eyes said it all… _I know and it’s not your fault._

Biting her lips and holding back her tears she nodded and lifted her chin, “Indeed, thank you.”

“Lord Jakoby actually asked me to find you,” Mizz Smith laughed as she poured some lemonade into a cup, “I was about to bring these out to him in his garden,” she said handing her the cup.

Drinking the sweet taste she looked out the kitchen windows, there he was in the distance. Carrying a pot under his arm.

She smiled at Mizz Smith, maybe she could be kinder and ask again…“Well I shall make your life a slight simple,” she gestured to the lemonade, “Allow me to carry it out to him?”

“Why thankyou darling, you’re a blessing aren’t you?” the old maid crooned and let her pick it up, “Go on then.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's gettin hot in here so take off all your clothes... or half cause fuckin be outside in this chapter :D

_**1799, Wednesday, 10th, April** _

She forced a bigger smile and walked out the kitchen door leading to a courtyard and the garden.

The fresh air was good. The scent of green. The tray in her arms rattled while she walked. Moving around some trees, hedges and a fountain she finally found him. Hunched over on his hands and knees, his cane beside his legs. He was kneelng in the dirt beneath the sun. on his otherside were pot plants, a small wooden box was open, a dozen tubes filled the square holes, inside were seeds.

Calista set the lemonade on the fountain. Lifting her dress and knelt into the dirt beside him. He knew she was there but didn’t say anything to her… he was enwrapped in his gardening. He was burying a small bush, red cherry tomatoes hung off the leaves.

“What are you planting?” she asked despite the obvious.

His hands were filthy with wet dirty, rubbing his hands together the specs fell from his hand like a soft rain. He took off his straw hat and moved it onto her head, the size was a slight too big for her, it slipped to the side but covered her just as he intended.

“Moved my small tomato bush,” he said, “it’s original home is covered in water. And planting more bell pepper seeds.”

By her knees was a basket, freshly cuts of plants. Picking out a single stalk she smiled at him, “What are these, here?” she twirled the pretty white flowers all around.

His hands were quick to grab hers, “Ginger, and Queen Anne’s lace, careful,” he said gently “Be careful with them.”

She froze. He guided her hands back into the basket. The feeling of his dirty palms, with callous skin but soft dirt felt almost nice. Their faces were too close, she let the unintentionally whispered, “Why, what are they for?”

He smiled and patted her thigh, “You, you’ll be drinking lots of tea with them for as long as you are in my care; cannot risk a bastard child.”

She gasped, how right he was…how could she not even think about that? A baby. A half-breed child, hers and Lord Jakoby’s…oh god no. she would drink all the tea in the world and shove all the toad eggs up her vagina to prevent that. She wasn’t ready to be a wife let alone a mother.

He jerked his head to the side, “Go sit on the bench over there,” he asked.

Looking over, Calista saw a small white bench surrounded by the hedges and roofed with flowers and vines. She did as she was told. Considering he was also standing up to get some lemonade and take a break. However when he tried standing, he faultered and trembled while he gathered his walking stick and kneeled to stand.

She thought back to the scars she saw on him the night before, how wounded and in pain battle must’ve been for him…

She sat on the warm wood and watched with discomfort, how much pain was he in?

Lord Jakoby made it to his feet and ignored the drinks, hobbling over to his female companion. He grunted and flicked his hat off her head, setting down on the opposite side of the bench. Calista showed him obvious confusion, especially as he pushed her to lie down across the bench. His fingers were quick to push her dress up over her hips. Her core was open to the worlds gaze.

“What are you doing?!” she squawked, kicking her feet and shoving her skirts down, while her host grasped her ankles and set his walking stick onto the ground while he crawled onto the bench. The wood creaked, threatening to break under them.

His cheek pressed into her inner thigh when he made eye contact, smirked and purred lowly, “I might have you do this to me later, I am not sure…but your honey pot smells so sweet.”

His mouth launched down and squished against the softness of her lips, his tongue flicking out and licking at her sweet slit. His large nose pressed into her tufts. Groaning out of desire, Jakoby’s vibrations sent a rattled gasp from her helpless lips.

“Oh yo-you’re a beast!” she put her hands onto his bad head and shoved him back. His hot breath was a cool wind onto her, forcing shivers of her chest and arousal to slick quickly. Jakoby’s yellow eyes were like a tigers who was hunting his defenseless prey.

“Stay still,” he growly frightfully, “I cannot guarantee I will not bite.”

She thighs froze open and shook her head slowly before throwing back over the hat that cushioned her. He was like a wolf, lapping at her with bottomless craving. Histongue flickered at her hole and didn’t stop even when he pushed it in. She cried of shock unable to comprehend the new feeling. Tears flooded her eyes as his nose pressed over and over against her clit.

His hands tightly squeezed her thighs sitting ontop of his shoulders. Her hands were balled up in her skirts, squeezing tightly nearing the beautiful orgasme feeling.

Her keens were loud, “Oh, oh god, I…I’m going to-”

Just as she hit the edge, Jakoby pulled back and listened to her scream with more shock, this one covered with malicious and annoyance and confusion.

Sitting up she panted, “Wh-what? Why did you stop, I-” 

_Oh, wow…._

Kneeling up, Calista could see the large buldge pressing inside his trousers. He wanted to take her again…

“Now now, don’t be greedy,” he laughed, cupping her chin, “I deserve some pleasure too.”

Her hands pressed into his chest, “Excuse me?” her round brown eyes widened.

His lips pressed into her ear as he grunted,

“I’m going to _fuck you_ on this bench and you can fight as much as you wish,” struggling to unbutton his trousers and unleash his blue cock, “but we will both enjoy it.”

Seeing it in his hand it looked like a normal member, but compared to her body he was inappropriately sized for her. Without thinking she put her hands onto him. Grasping his cock with her hands as she shoved her self against him and looked over his shoulder.

“St-Stop, someone will see us!” she moaned, delirious in her state of ecstasy and pure lined horniness. He smiled and moved her hands up to her chest and moved his hard cock to press slowly inside of her wet cunt. The stretch was the same, sore but not agonising, this time it was a good pain. As he dug deep into her, she sighed and whimpered, her hands scratched the back of his neck while his lips touched her throat.

“No one will see-” he huffed, “-us. We are covered and surrounded by hedges,” pulling back he unkindly slammed into her without restrain, she gasped and followed with a deep sultry moan.

Kissing her, Jakoby pulled back and whispered into her lips, “You sound like an angel.”

“Lord Jakoby!” Calista whined when he pulled back and shoved himself in again, setting a pass inside her, “pl-please,” she shook her head and pressed her knees into his waist, “It hurts…please sl-slower.”

He shuddered atop her and paused his boyish thrusts, swallowing tightly,“I guess you’re correct, I’ll be,” he licked his lips, “…kinder.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and felt him slow his pace. He stopped again, surprisingly and hissed.

Sitting back she realised she was leaning her weight onto his bad leg. She apologised without thinking, and for a moment she let genuinely guilty; she hated herself for it at the same time too. _Good let him feel pain.._

“Wait,” he murmured, widening her legs apart and balancing his arm above her head, “let me move please,” he flushed and moved his hips around before settling back inside her.

His eyes fluttered, softly fucking her in his garden she felt him harden further inside her, twitching and moving, “God you are soft like a flower.”

This was abetter angle for them both, the thickness of his girth was brutal and deep, her special spot had no chance, she felt like she couldn’t breath.

The sound of cicadas were an audience of their lust. His fingers dug into the softness of her belly, cause a spark to form as she giggled and moaned.

“Oh th-that tickles,” she sighed and jerked around over his wet covered cock. She choked and smiled uncontrollably. Her walls were becoming tighter when she laughed, the sensitive part of her stomach was where he was pressing with his thumbs.

A sight to behold was his smile…a good smile, not a smug grin but a smile. He laughed to and when he felt her getting too loud, he placed his large hand over her lips and chin, silencing her but letting her nose breathe.

She didn’t fight him even though she was surprised by the contact, instead of pushing him away she bit into his hand cheekily and moaned louder. Her eyes rolled back while he laughed and whispered into her lips, “Shhhh.”

He fucked her into the wood and when she froze up and curled her sock covered toes, she came hard and fast. Like sliding down a stream, she moaned, panting while she came down from the mountains of passion. He didn’t stop even when she cummed, he went harder and faster; her entire body was being shoved and dragged across the creaking wood. And when she felt him flinch, his cock jerking around, he dragged away and watched him wrap his hand around his shatter and milk out white self over her exposed tummy. She in awe and hesitance touched it while his cock limped and shrunk back into its floppy self.

The orc above her was trembling, he was gritting his teeth and let himself balance over her, back up to sit upright by her little feet. He hissed when his knee knocked into the seat, his fist clenched. So much agony right after the great leaps to feel sexually defined. Calista looked away, awkwardly pushing the skirts down to her ankles and also sitting up. Biting into her cheek she waited for the blood to find it’s way into her feet again, the strength to stand just wasn’t there.

Weakly he tucked and buttoned himself back up.

Silence.

“Miss Flores, when you’re ready to stand,” he blushed and bit his lip, “Could you-” he started to choke, looking away from her he took a deep breath before facing her, “Could you please fetch my cane and assist me in standing once more?”

Calista stared at the stick that was right by his left foot, he couldn’t reach it himself? She didn’t mention it, it wasn’t polite even if she despised him. She nodded softly and pushed away, when she stood she was quick to hold onto Lord Jakoby’s shoulder or balance. Her legs were shaky and she could feel the puddle he left on her glide down, dripping onto the stones. Retrieving his cane, she had him lean his hand onto her shoulders and pulled him by his arm until his good leg pushed up and found balance with his can.

Dusting himself off, Calista awkwardly handed his hat back and silently poured him some lemonade. In another time I would’ve said her brain was racing with thoughts but for once there was nothing inside upstairs. While she watched the cool drink fall into his cup, there was only a buzzing in the back of her skull and a throbbing between her legs. She could only think of one word, _more_.

Stepping up beside her at the fountain she gave him his drink and let her head fall to her chest, staring at their feet. _Something was wrong with this, more, more, I want more of him_ , she thought.

“Thank you,” she heard him gasp from the drink, “That has earned you another painting,” he paused, lifted her chin with the handle of his cane he murmured, “and…a room to yourself you may sleep in unless I require your romancing companionship.”

Her eyes widened… _the plan could still work!_


	15. Chapter 15

Moving her chin back from his cane she grinned and turned away to leave.

“Miss Flores,” the Lord hummed, “You have not been excused of my presence, come back here please.”

With the lack of freedom granted and his words spoken rightfully of her improper actions, she rolled her eyes and hung her devilish smile. Waddling back to him with her arms crossed she huffed.

“It would seem that my discomfort brings the Lord Jakoby a great sense of health and humour?”

He held out his hand to her. With all amazement her palm was tiny to his hand, so easily caught and trapped by his curling fingers which could crush her yet chose to be gentle and guide her to the garden beds. Kneeling down, he found his gloves and fitted them to her hands. They were big and loose, like mittens of winter.

“By the grave Miss Flores for twas not a mere moments past that I gave you the pleasures of heaven, “ he laughed to himself, “What greatness is there above that great height of fruit and skin which would make the act of sex so terrible and torturous?”

She flushed and ignored his words.

“Why have you put these on me?” she waved her hands before him. He smiled and like before took off his hat and fitted it atop of hers.

“I need help planting,” his ears flicked, “Would you assist me or have you other pressing duties?”

She did admit to herself, her legs were tired and it was nice to sit down. She nodded and for once let him show her how to garden without a single disagreeance. He was kind in this moment, gentle and filled with joy. The passion in his lips that expressed knowledge of certain plants and remedies along with even poisons. Her ears listened closely to the history.

“During the siege of the Orc Village Kirra of ancient Greek, Elvish members of the Amphictionic League poisoned the city's water supply with hellebore. It practically wiped them out…poison can be quick and painful and sometimes be long and unknowingly hidden, ready to wipe out entire families.”

She considered as a joke asking if he had anything like hellebore, so she could slip it into his tea. However she understood where the humour could be lost if she had. And despite all her vendetta building against him she had a wish to keep him sustained and generous so she could sleep in another room and initiate her schemes.

She focused on the sound of his words and how he pronounced some syllables with a foreign accent.

She dug a small hole and place a handful of bell pepper tree seeds inside before smoothing the dirt over it. While Lord Jakoby poured water over the patch, she inquired softly, “My Lord, your heritage bewilders me. Where does your family hail from?”

The Orc fell silent and took a moment to think about her question. His ears softened while his shoulders tightened. An unreadable mix of emotions flashed over his face and Calista held her breath awaiting some distain in his inevitable reply.

“My father Oleg was from Saint Petersburg,” he said wiping a bead of sweat from his neck, “He was a jack of many trades, he was a carpenter, pig farmer, even a bounty hunter for runaway serfs and slaves…”

Calista was astonished, an orc of many careers was unusual.

“He was unblooded, outcasted and seen as a betrayer of his kind and people,” he touched the place where his tusk would’ve been if he hadn’t cut them out, “Like his father before him also unblooded.”

“You’re Russian?” she asked, as she fanned her fingers over the leaves of a parsley plant. The earthy scent was sure not to leave her for a while.

“Not quite,” he chuckled, “My mother Dinara was from down south, France. You see Mizz Smith and my mother were servant girls in the same household, my mother though was born in Prussia and she was in fact a runaway serf.”

Calista let her knees press into her chest, her chin settling onto them. Her eyes narrowed at him, “Your father hunted her?”

He nodded, “But by chance they,” he rolled his eyes, “…’fell in love’ and married. My Father studied and became a teacher for young orcish children banned from the schools. I was born, they died and Mizz Smith, my godmother thus raised me with the sisters.”

_He was an orphan…of course he was, but so young it would seem?_

“In a nunnery?” she asked.

“In a way…“ he smiled wickedly.

Calista did not further inquire his meaning as there was surely a crude world behind it. Instead there was a more pressing question on her mind and lips in her unbeknownst interrogation, “And you fought for the English, against the French?”

He was quick to tense, his knuckles cracked with his fist, the winds had changed, from the dashing boy of humour he came to be the old crow of a cold meadow, “I did Miss Flores.”

“Why did you betray your home country?” she shivered, turning her eye contact away to the fountain. She bit her top lip… _why did he fight in the English King’s name, gained such wealth of his pension?_

He released a strangled sigh, “You’re too young to understand.”

As hurtful as it was, she kept her mouth shut. Pressing any further would lose her room she desperately needed. She felt his hot breath on her cheek, his massive hand gripped her jaw and tugged her to face him. Taking his hat off her head, he curled a finger through her head. His thumb dragged over her lips.

“For once you are silent,” his brows furrowed, “What has stolen your tongue so dear one, have you finally learnt restrain?”

Her chest tightened and her fingers trembled, she shut her eyes. She was scared, and excited at then same time. A dark hue of pink rose into her face. 

“….the bedroom?”

Her eyes flipped open.

He pressed his nose to hers before bending his lips forward to her ear and whispered, “I see now, you only perform demurely to receive my gifts.”

His hand moved her face away while he let his teeth scrape over her neck. She felt his nose taking a deep smell of her flesh. She feared he was going to bite her.

“Tell me I am wrong,” his purr rumbled and rattled into her chest, “Lie to me, unleash you’re tongue….” He pulled back, “Or are we practising the art of refinement?”

She yanked herself back to jump to her feet while she shuddered and ripped off his garden gloves, “It brings you a great amusement to vex me and entice my brought hatred, therefore I take my leave back indoors.”

He struggled back onto his feet quick enough to pinch her dress and tugger back to him, “One more thing Miss Flores” he gasped, his finger pointed to the fountain, “My lemonade, please, another drink?”

She almost swore at him, wanting the dear desire to tell him he could get the drink himself…but with his leg and the heat of the sun, she could be a good Samaritan and pour him would looked like the second last glass.

She poured the golden juice into his glass, taking the jug to him as well. She watched him scull the glass, placing it beside him by the dirt, he waved his fingers for her to come closer. When she bent down to him, jug in her hands, he caught her by the back of her head and pulled her forward into a deep kiss.

She screamed into his lips and emptied the jug onto his head. He let go, sputtering and laughing like a fool.

“Not as nice as it was at Lord Dixon’s but much sweeter,” he licked his lips covered in the sweet drink.

She scoffed and marched away from him, slipping back up to the house. Once inside she had her hands holding her head, still hearing his laughter on the wind, she sighed and shudder. The weight of his mouth was still fresh on her lips. What a mean trick!

_But now you have a room to yourself._

Wiping her mouth and brushing her hair through her fingers, Calista went on her way with a spring in her step and cum dried across her womb. A stench that caused all servants to raise their heads and brows while restraining themselves of wicked gossip despite its truths. Yet the young woman showed no remorse or shame as she just won a game which would lead to an ever most rewarding prize; freedom of Lord Jakoby’s blackmail.

* * *

Lord Jakoby’s library was a marvel to behold as like the rest of his vast home. Books upon books just alolng many shelves. Trailing her fingertips across the spines of the novels she found his interests of botany, paleobotany, agriculture and of course, modern surgical medicine. He was in no way a dunce.

Romantics, arts, poetry…

Finally she unveiled something peculiar…her hand reached for a tattered novel with a covering that seemed unusually large for its size. Peeling the book away from the shelf, the cover instantly fell off and showed the bold gold letters of her past sins and memories.

**FANNY HILL: MEMOIRS OF A WOMAN OF PLEASURE**

She nearly dropped the book by her own horror. The pages were something she wanted to close the moment she flipped the first, but again she was dragged back into it all. The wanton life of a woman of pleasure. Now herself, a taken woman she could almost understand everything written…only minor tweaks were in order as John Cleland never had nor would be a woman, his written fiction was just as it was; fiction. 

A swell rising between her thighs, made her sigh and rub her legs together. She was quick to lounge on a chaise, curling herself up and peering over shoulder before smirking and finding herself back into Fanny Hill.


	16. Chapter 16

When the Lord of the house returned, he stripped himself of his day clothes and had himself a bath. He could smell her a mile away, he proudly puffed up his chest at the thought. Poor, little Calista, a child of poor circumstances and situations.

Resting his elbow on the lip of the tub, his other finger swirled through the intoxicating aromas and soaps, however he could still smell her, smell him on her, smell them together. She smelt like honey and warmth, he was the fresh scent of dirt and spring grass.

The musk of rain beyond the window told him they would suffer another storm, and the flood would rise. The only good thing that came out of this flooding was the sudden extension of Miss Flores stay, it seem to also be the most frustrating subject in addition.

Bending back, he let his massive body slide down into the water of his large tub. Imported from Sweden where rich orcs like him could enjoy the space appropriate. He let the steam consume him until he submerged entirely below the bath water that gradually washed away the days sweat. Closing his eyes, his muscles relaxed and his leg floated up, such peace and war wage in his chest.

He sighed to the sound of droplets against the windows glass.

He was king of his palace, won the prize of a lovely yet unaccomplished Miss Flores to lay in his bed. Why though was the king unsettled even in the pillows of her chest? She challenged him and he faced battles like hers one thousand times over with men and women and all kinds of species and creatures; nothing seemed as exciting as her vexation onto him.

He didn’t have many friends, most of them he hired as help; he forwardly wondered on why he enjoyed her company. On their first meeting she had held a discriminate belief and he himself was overly dignified and harboured a disagreeance with her. Within his friends garden she confessed her ill mistake and he merely went on to torture her…

Such a coincidence she showed herself without a carriage just as the rivers and creeks began to flood. Upon his request an accidental chance that played his favour. What a lucky fellow.

When he met her that day by the wall side he could not believe it, the shock almost killed him. His dear friend Goya had once told him of a beautiful young woman, touched by god’s sun and tainted with a sinful beauty. Jakoby initially thought his companion only said such as to tell a story to the paintings he would sell at the auction, every single one he bought of course. A new rich sir like him was sure buying art would help with his esteem in the public eye of the country and city fellows alike.

Not only the paintings were under his hands, but his other card was knowledge. He recognised the name Flores, and as common as the name was in other countries, there wasn’t that many locally…once he lived in Northumbria, or rather it was where he sent people in his favour and debt to live. Big house, not as big as his current estate however….

He had a couple, a pair of kind Christian elves. And among their children they were raising a human boy name Tomas...whose mother was a poor mislead girl left unmarried with a bastard named Patricia... Meeting Calista was merely suspicion of her identity, but having found her family tragedy; he knew upon that night young Calista was Goya’s sweet muse. But why model for Goya, when she was a virgin? Why interact with a creature like Goya, a sexual depravity of a man. She was so naïve to the pleasures she believed herself to soil his sheets when he gave her the ever reached high of sex; it had him smiling at the thought. Perhaps she didn’t wish to share a bed with him because he both scared and excited her small fire?

“Antonio, come here,” he beckoned from behind the screen door that separated him. His servant was quick to bend over and listen to his masters command, before leaving and enacting the task assigned.

How tragic she was to be tangled up in such a mean world. His world.

Dreamingly Nick washed his body, imaging soft hands and small confused gasps and the biggest caramel eyes. His heart sped up and his hands trailed around his burning skin. The very woman who hated him was his warmth and the desire in his belly. It was a silly thought, he smiled and sighed. The waters waved over the bath while his eyes tightened and his chest tore for air and his thoughts sought out his lost sanity, overwhelmed by the image of nude Calista.

* * *

Pages flipped and peeled open under the hot stare of Calista, yearning and drowning down every word possible. Her breathe was short and panting by the erotic scriptures beneath her finger tips. Her thighs clamped, the ache was strangled gentling while she continued.

She giggled with sin and blushing nature as she folded another page corner, delicately awaiting her for future reference when she would be in her own room and be able to seek out the feelings she had supressed for too long. Wrapped up in her world of wanton men and women, she heard the sudden clacking of a walking stick.

She was flustered and frightened whilst hearing the steps come nearer beyond the door of the library. She was going to return the book but alas she had forgotten its place and hearing the pitter patter arrive her heart squealed with fright. Diving off the small chaise she caught the book cover off the floor and hurriedly slipped it on while climbing back onto a cushion and opened the novel again to pretend to read.

The door creaked open, she forced her eyes onto the pages of smut. She took a deep breath in and attempted to control her face into a relaxed state. She flinched when she heard him come closer. The wood of his cane tapped at her foot.

“If you would kindly move over, I would appreciate the chance to sit down Miss Flores.”

“There is a chair behind the third shelf about astronomy,” she glared up at him, “You may sit there.”

“Ah,” his lips curled up, “but I wish to sit in this chair and read beside a most lovely creature.”

Moving over, she felt him sitting beside her, she was quick to cradle the book to her chest, afraid he would peer over and see the words that enticed the molten desire between her thighs.

She huffed and lean away from him to her side, moving her cushion beneath her and placing it between them while she scoffed, “Where then is your reading material, sir?”

He stated so cooly, “Before me, I am reading a woman.”

She slapped the book shut and shook her head, wrinkles forming in the crown of her head, “A woman? I?”

The orc plucked the pillow between them and spread his legs until his knee softly kissed her crossed ones. She visibly rolled her eyes and clenched her jaw. How much she dearly despised him and his nature was well aware to him, but he continued to press on, “Not entirely I confess Miss Flores, but yes a woman of sorts. Humans have tells like passages in poems and secrets to confess like limericks of life.”

She remarked with venom, “You know my secrets, you threaten me with them everytime you breathe.”

Looking away from her the orc bit his lip to withhold his laughter of her flushed appearance. What Miss Flores was not presently aware of, was her appearance overall. Not only was the button of her small jacket undone, her hair itself was askew and her cheeks inflamed with heat. His sense of smell revealed what she was ashamed of, unveiled the secret of her core.

“Since I know your tells then,” he sighed happily, “I will read without my eyes but my ears. You are so invested in the history of the battle of nine races, please do not be so quiet, share it with me. A male should be more included in the passions of young ladies like yourself, tell me of the Shield of Light.”

Shield of Light? She wasn’t reading a history book she was- oh.

Swallowing hard she noticed how intensely he was staring at her, his golden eyes were full of mischief and the corner of his mouth quirked into a subtle, knowing smirk.

He couldn't possibly know, could he? He hadn’t read all these books, had he? She thought to herself as she tightened her grip on the novel and lifted it an inch closer to her face. Her heart raced, she feared what would happen if he knew…she cleared her throat, lying was too hard, but she knew practically nothing about the history of the shield of light.

He leant his head back over the edge of the lounge. His eyes fluttered at her.

"Uh," She smiled tightly as she pretended to find the 'appropriate' page, flicking back hastily, it was like hot sweat was dripping at the back of her neck. The room felt suffocating.

"The shield of light. During the reign of the Dark Lord, um…” _Oh shit, what was his name?_ "J-Jirak the….the um…Blacksmith? Yes blacksmith, sent out a resistance group called the shield of light to attack the dark lord in 21…,” Calista hesitated, "21…20 BC…"

Jakoby listened with an bemused grin as he acknowledged Calista painfully recreating the events of their noble blood filled history from thin air. As he studied her, he read the pink in her lips that quivered and the trembling of her slender fingers. The shrinking pupils of her eyes the more that anxiousness overtook her. His eyebrows raised as she continued; Jakoby had definitely wondered on whether it was appropriate to cease her reading of allow her to continue a become a laughingstock.

“Jirak designed a wand so powerful it killed the Dark lord, thus defeating the opposition and ending the war in 2100 BC. He was the first bright Orc to be made aware.”

"Interesting." He noted, "Who is the source of these accounts I wonder?" he asked, a smirk gliding across his lips as he sat up and rubbed his palm over the head of his walking stick.

"Um…the shield of light…" Calista mumbled and scratched the back of her neck.

  
"Very interesting indeed." Jakoby said to himself. Calista frowned,  
  


"Why?" she asked, blinking up at him as he paused his handle rubbing to face her and give her a toothy orc grin, "Well most written works by the shield of light were burned as a fear of hereasy and blasphemy, oh and the fact most of them couldn’t write nor read, no wonder they had no clue about Jirak _the farmer_ who used the _dark lord’s wand_ against him in the great battle of _2109 BC_ …but maybe that’s because they were what was it? Sent by jirak a little too early in _2120 BC_ to their deaths practically instead of receiving training after he founded them in _2139 BC…In addition, I have never met a woman so clearly read a book, upside down._ ”

A audible shuddered escaped her lips as her shaking hand pushed some hair behind her ear. She had been caught. The sense of helplessness was like her last night a virgin. She uncrossed her legs and chewed the inside of her cheek. Her blood ran cold and hot up through her fingers and down from her stomach. Her eyes flicked down to the book cover that was obviously the wrong way showing.

His speckled fingers leant out and clicked before flipping her an open palm, silently demanding the book into his property. A helpless whimper crept from her lips as she released the book in her care over to him.

His smile had fallen into a glower as he tore off the book cover and chucked it over his shoulder. His eyes squinted down at the title on the first page.

"Fanny Hill: The Memoirs of a woman of pleasure…," he read loudly, "Ah yes… I've heard of this."

Calista’s cheeks shone with embarrassment, as he flickered to her bookmarked pages and saw his eyes glance from the words to her, silent but loud with judgement.

He licked his lips and bent his head down to her ear,"… _He threw up my petticoat and shift, whilst my thighs were, by an instinct of nature, unfolded to their best; and my desires had so thoroughly destroyed all modesty in me, that even their being now naked and all laid open to him, was part of the prelude that pleasure deepened my blushes at, more than same._ " His voice pronounced every single dirty word perfectly and without hesitation of stuttering. His eyes snapped back up at her. Her hands rested over her mouth.

“ _But when his hand, and touches, naturally attracted to their center, made me feel all their wantonness and warmth in, and round it, oh!”_ Jakoby lifted his eyes from the book and stared directly at his trembling guest as he dictated the final words, his eyes blazing with a flame far too hot in heat for her to bare, she turned away from him.

“ _How immensely different a sense of things, did I perceive there, than when under my own insipid handling…_ " She jumped when she heard him snap the book shut with one hand and felt the other tickle her chin, turning her face back to him.

"Some fascinating reading material, Miss Flores…" Jakoby drawled, "Tell me, are you so dearly unsatisfied and alone within your new founded role as my lover, you must now seek out masturbatory shite such as this?"

Calista scoffed, daring to laugh at him, "'Unsatisfied' is an absolute understatement, sir… I'm being kept as a convict and blackmailed within this prison!”

"My heart bleeds." Jakoby replied sarcastically with a bored sigh as he delicately raised his eyebrows.

With a venomous glare Calista growled and huffed, standing up abruptly, she was sick of his arrogant attitude towards her. The young woman knew she had suffered enough of the one way, pointless conversations that would ultimately always end in her own embarrassment or his own anger. She marched to the library entrance and took hold of the handle. When the door refused her escape, she twisted around and saw him, legs and arms spread far apart on the chaise smirking.

“You didn’t learn from the last time Miss Flores, I have not excused you.”

Her lips snarled at him, “This puts a truth to the imprisonment sir, open the library doors or I shall scream.”

“Very well,” he laughed and shrugged, waiting…

“Excuse me?”

“Well,” he rolled his eyes, “Go on, scream, yell, cry as loud as you can. No one is coming to your aid.”

Calista gasped, “But your servants-”

“Are smart enough to keep to their duties and leave me alone when I inform them to,” Jakoby sighed.

She crossed her arms and the tone of a whine filled her voice, “What do you want this time?”

He looked at her darkly as he commanded, “Shed your dress.”

“I can always just pull it up,” she bent down and began to lift her skirts, praying he would be quick and she would be left alone once more.

“Clean your ears,” he growled from his seat, “I said; shed your dress, Miss Flores. Remember to leave your stockings on however.”

His voice was angry and it sent shivers down her spine and even some down into her sensitives. Biting her lip and holding back her tears, ripping off her small jacket with its buttons, Calista untied her bodice and pulled away at her apron and under skirt.

“Look at me,” she heard him call. She froze, his eyes so yellow and cat like with hunger he stared. She couldn’t concentrate on both at once. Carefully she stepped out of her shoes and she finally took off her little shift. Her nose sniffled, she wanted to scream but what was the point if none would come to her aid.

There was something far more intimate, terrifying and arousing to strip in the early afternoon daylight, the rain outside batting against the roof tops and walls of the home. He knew it too, he was snickering when she rose her arms to cover what she could.

“Come here, sit,” he offered. As she tiptoed over she was blocked by him, she sighed and huffed with strongly clenched fists, “Your legs are in the way, I have no placement,”

“Of course you do,” he said, smacking his good leg, “upon my lap,” he leant forward and gripped her hips and tugged her up onto his thigh, “here.”

With her legs on either side of him, she was riding his thigh like a man rides a horse. Naked to him, her cunt pressed into his white trousers he had changed into, she blushed and kept her hands to her chest. Her knees almost reached the soft couch, but his thigh was so large and strong, she could barely scrape it. Her clit was on the direct plunge down into him and it felt could, a friction that brought her to an embarrassing high pitched sigh.

This reminded her of a painting she posed for Goya. Lady Godiva was the inspiration sounded about right.

Lord Jakoby wrapped an arm around her, setting it onto her pert bottom, he squeezed gently much to her invaded discomfort.

“Lay against me Miss Flores, close your eyes and listen, enjoy.” He purred, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder, his lips pressed into her hairline as he read the words aloud to her.

She breathed in the new clean scent of his shirt, his body was hot against her, her body was gathered into warm and scent of soap. But ever so often he would shuffle his feet, his thigh moved and shook while she astride it, she would gasp and his fingers would pet her back. It was as if she was a wild horse he was calming.

“ _And now his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and the confinement of the breeches burst through, when out started to view the amazing, pleasing object of all my wishes, all my dreams, all my love, the king member indeed!_ ”

He whispered hauntingly, “ _I gazed at, I devoured it, at length and breadth, with my eyes intently directed to it, till his; getting upon me, and placing between my thighs, took from me the enjoyment of its sight, to give me a far more grateful one, in its touch, in that part where its touch is so exquisitely affecting_.”

She shuddered by his neck, squeezing her eyes tight, as her naked flesh was crushed against the rough fabric of his clothes. He took her hip and pushed and pulled her along him, humping against his ivory clothes.

“ _Applying it then to the minute opening, for such at that age it certainly was, I met with too much good will, I felt with too great a rapture of pleasure the first insertion of it, to heed much the pain that followed_ ,” Jakoby stole away a wrist of hers and settled her soft fingertips onto the straining flesh beneath his trousers.

Tears of humiliation choked in her throat loudly followed by a guttural sigh. She could feel him, his arousal, his member that would take her again and again. Her palm travelled along the riding hill it made, she felt his chest grow and his own voice deepen as he read, “ _I thought nothing too dear to pay for this the richest treat of the sense; so that, split up, torn, bleeding, mangled I was still superiorly pleased, and hugged the author of all this delicious ruin_.”

She grinded herself down from his hip to his knee like a feral dog, as disgusting as she knew the scene was, she was staining his trousers and feeling a heavenly pleasure, and so was he by the way he twitched under her palm. He put down the book but still recited it, knowing that he was well adapted into this scripture made Calista moan.

“But when,” Jakoby shuddered beneath her, “Soon after, he made his second attack, sore as every thing was, the smart was soon put away by the sovereign cordial; all my soft complainings were silenced, and the pain melting fast away into pleasure”

He slipped his hand inside of his trousers and tugged out his cock, cuddling its length in his hand he strongly exerted his passion, Calista while watching him, railed across like a snail across his leg, slow and wet.

“Rise, go and grip the shelves,” he mumbled. She was shaky as she climbed off of him, her legs twiggy and her cunt glistening, slippery to the eye when she gripped a single shelf and bent over, aware of his motives.

She felt him behind her without having to look. He was strong and rough, tightly grabbing and both her hip and waist, raising her to stand on her toes as her bent his knees to reach his cock down and plundge into her tight hole. It was tight, hot and hurt at first. He barely waited, he was so impatient to fuck into her. When he was able to slither to the hilt he dragged out and ruthlessly dove inside of her. She screamed a light and moaned. His massive hands moved up her body and clenched her hanging breasts. His nails dug into her skin, and while she hissed, he kissed up her back and neck.

She could only describe his treatment as if she was a ragdoll. Her body was being joustled and moved around with any of her help. He was growling and chuffing while taking her hard and fast. She winced, her bottom smack back into him harsh and hot, while his balls slapped up onto her clit. She cried and moaned loudly, heaving with this heavy pleasure and rough sex.

The shelve was rocking and shaking, books were falling hard, but he protected her body. Shielding her from the sharp corners and heavy bundles as he drilled in and out.

“Do you feel me, do you feel my need? Have you understood your place yet?”

His reply was heard by a wail. She screamed and stomped her foot, sobbing and melting back right as he pushed in.

“My place is my own and you shall not take it!” she panted, she twisted herself, crawling up and bucking him off, she turned around, his cock painfully slipping out. They both yelled at the bodily pain, but she needed to make a point. She walked away from, him, and when he was quick at her elbow, she shoved him away.

“You promised me my own room sir, show it to me now.”

Both pent up and unspent, Jakoby almost bend her over the couch and forced himself, Calista would’ve let him; but he contained his animalistic prowess and angry grumbled, slipping himself into his trousers. Watching her drowsily change back into her dress. He could smell her own annoyance, except found no understanding in her ceased behaviour.

“Unlock the door, now.”

Grabbing his stick, he dug into his shirt pocket and keyed the door wide. He shook his head in bewilderment. Would it count for a painting?


	17. Chapter 17

When a male finds himself at the disposition of lustrous insanity he will find himself in the necessary state to which he must find release preferable with another party….when said party like that of Miss Flores denies his whims like that of Lord Jakoby…a layer of condition is set in place but unsettled in the self.

A growl was rising in the throat of the Orkish Lord when his guest ripped herself away and demanded her rewards. A separate bedroom.

He shook himself down, tucking back into his mind and resting his body.

Calista was all that of flushed amusement…the flesh of her fruit was warm and when she paraded out of his library, books all over the floor, she felt her own slicken heat rub between her thighs. Taking away his release was just a quality of controlling him, as all women of the world does when dominating the household. She was ever so sure it was how her Aunt Laidlee won her late husband…the powers of women…and now she could use them on a dumb Orc.

Lord Jakoby was quick by her side…curling his fingers into the back of her skirt and pushing her forward.

When she tried walking a little faster, he tugged her back. He was obnoxiously slow with his offended leg. And to gather enough spite as revenge for own humiliation, she stood back onto his toe to grin when she heard the victory hiss out of his lips. He crudely knocked her forward, holding her skirt and not allowing her to fall over.

“My Lord,” she walked and reached back and pinched his wrist, “You’ve a hold of my dress like a leash to a dog. Do you fear me running off?”

He huffed and stepped forward with his cane, ““I fear that like a bitch you’ll do more disobedient things then to step onto my feet,” licking his lips he leant in and whispered behind the shell of her ear, his hot breath rattling her dark curls. And with consequence, you will finish what you start in the library.”

“What I started?” she balked and tried marching forward, but his grip on the skirt was strong and had her set to one place, “Sir!” she shrieked, “I do not invite myself to you, you are the thief who began a charade I merely ended.”

He gave her his famous foul smile, great distain behind it, “Miss Flores,” he wrapped his hand around her wrist tightly, forcing her palm onto the still risen groin, “Nothing has ended, you are just an agitator to my tender nerves.”

Instead of trying to redact from him, she opened her hand and squeezed tightly onto the budge causing a frightful bark to spit out of his mouth. Cursing her in Orkish, his hand released her and let his cane take the blow of his weight. While he recovered from the pain of a strangled cock, Calista snorted and stood away, her fists shook by her sides.

“Tender is the last thing you should title yourself Lord Jakoby.”

His golden eyes flickered up, his glare left her stomach twisting.

“Does your mouth ever know the gift of silence?”, He snarled.

Her nose twitched, “Does your manner know it’s temper to an innocent woman; that her corruption is his sin and not her own.”

For a moment she considered running, she could get reach the other side of the manor, faster than he, but she couldn’t hide from him forever… when he rose his chest puffed and his frown peeled into a also classic sneer.

He rose his finger up, her fear compelled her to stand back from him as he limped towards her frightfully quickly. It felt like tiny punches as he pounded his finger into her chest, dictating “I will put you over my knee Miss Flores, tempt me further, please; it would bring a great fortune to my hand.” His breath was hot on her face, her eyes closed tightly, “Your room then Miss Flores?” he grunted and walked away from her.

Stepping behind him, she hugged herself and hung her head.

When they passed servants they all seemed to pause and stare at her…and torture was made when the less human rose their snouts to the air.

Her bedroom was at no consequence, on the same hall as his. Her apartment seemed a slight smaller than his grand room, but it was four times as large as her own back home with her sister to share. Here she was all alone and free to explore. The curtains ran up to the roof and the bed was freshly made, the rest of the furniture was still covered with dust sheets, but it would be easily clear to open a window and remove them.

She sat upon the bed while Jakoby hobbled to a duchess and lifted its covering with his cane, before her he fondled himself, still overcoming the tremendous blow she took to his bollocks.

Her nose wrinkled and she provided the Orc Lord a small sneeze, yet he rolled his eyes and did not return her a wishing of gods bless you.

Calista began to feel as though she was treading ice too thin for her to walk across safely, a gentleman would never ever strike a lady…but how much of him was gentlemen and how much was beast? He threatened her before, who was to say he did not uphold his promise?

“Conditioned to this, Miss Flores. This room is yours to command, and upon agreement I shall not enter it whilst you’re within it’s accommodation.”

She sighed and launched off the bed, desperate to pull open a window sill. Throwing the curtains aside the bright light opened her room more clearly to the human eye. Unlocking the windows glass shutters, the dust was sucked out gently by the wind.

She turned around and saw that her most villainous companion was closing her bedroom door and staring angrily into her eyes, her caramel windows of her difficult soul. Slipping the key onto the night stand he sat before her on her gifted bed and closed his eyes enjoying the fresh air circulating the room.

“Why is it that you remain here then whilst I accommodate _my_ room?”

Her hands sat on her hips. She earned the room and expected to stay in their fall walled apartment as much as possible during her stay until the floods cleared.

He pursed his lips and shrugged, “To enjoy the look that which is to grace your face when I command you finish me off…” when his golden orbs opened he witnessed the reddening face of a young woman who had been scorned.

“Excuse m-”

He hummed, “…with your mouth and my twang alone.”

Knowing his persistence to express his release even after their tight squabble in the house main was irritating to Calista but the act of fellatio petrified her. It made her feel light headed, to settle his cock into her mouth like food was disgusting and striking to her morality. Already wasted to heavens, blood spilt and her womb tarnished how could he even ask her to place the tool of monstrosity onto her lips and tongue, the same lips she kisses her family with, the same lips she might someday kiss her husband and their children with. No, it was too much, too far, too foul to compare and her mind was harder than stone.

“How dare you!” she made her way over to strike him but his reflexes were not one to forget as his hand squeezed tight over her wrist and twisted it away. She whimpered and scratched while his fingers tightly dug into her bone. It was unfair!

“Was the pleasure not favourable in the gardens this morning?” he mockingly purred.

She fell to her knees for the pain he inflicted was too much to maintain her graces. Her face was between his knees, his cock stretching along the material covering her leg. Not only was her pride cut down but her dignity was slowly destroyed by a creature that was by societies belief less advanced than her own, how could she ever let him take her, use her, touch her the way he did.

“What you demand of me…” she teared up and gasped when he persisted his lack of release, “It cannot be done before god, no,” she felt a rising sob in her chest, the humiliation and fear too much, “I know no other crime worse than sodomy and this.”

His eyes that glowed warm yellow like the sun were also so cold and wicked like a snakes, “Shall I keep and hang the paintings then?”

He was like a devil, bathing in hellfire and the suffering of her sins.

Letting her hand go, she cried, the blood rushed back into it and it pulsed like fire.

Bow her head to the floor, forehead kissing the carpet she cried with whispering tongue, “Get out.”

Tears tripped to the floor.

“Shall I Miss Flores?” he pressed, his fingers petting his thigh where his erection was returning. His other hand reached down to touch her trembling head.

She screamed at him, spit flying from her lips as she crawled to her feet with the aid of the nightstand, “To hell may you be damned, get out of this room this instance!”

He clapped his hands and gathered his walking stick, wagging his finger at her as he stood, “Your lovely face and bosoms shall be fetching to that of our neighbours then?”

It seemed that the Lord presumed his threats would shaken her choices, but Calista would have no more of the torture, no more of his humiliating games. And to think, he did this only because she mistook him once for a servant; this revenge had no ending. 

“I care not anymore, leave this place!” she squealed and shoved her hands into his mighty chest, unfortunately unmoved from his spot, “leave me to peace!”

His unkind smile started to fall, he knew now she would not yield, “As you wish Miss Flores.”

His hand leant to the nightstand before she slapped to it first, “No,” she swallowed loudly and wiped a tear with the back of her hand. She sniffled and shook with ultimate rage, tightly grasping the metal piece in her palm she held it dearly to her chest, “I keep the key.”

He tightened his jaw, stood and sighed, “Very well,” he bowed his head to her and steadily wandered to the door, “I will send a servant to fetch you for lunch.”

She sniffled, “I’d rather,” she choked, “Starve.”

He gave her a look of exasperation, “I highly doubt such a notion Miss Flores,” the door slammed shut.

With all her emotions colliding at once she kicked the bed frame and crawled onto the bed, curling up and cried and cried and cried. Within time of the early afternoon, she fell asleep with her hands clutching the blankets and her nose dug into the pillows. She hated him and she hated this place, she hated what was happening. The sense of helplessness was excessively destroying her person.

* * *

When luncheon rolled through, she ignored the door knocking and fell back to sleep

But when the sky turned darker and the clouds rolled in, her stomach was purring. Her hunger arose her from her bed and to remove every dust sheet, the nightly breeze stole the dust from her room much quicker than the day.

Another knocking came, yet this persisted on….and on.

“Miss Flores,” called a servant behind the door “Lord Jakoby requests your attendance of this evenings meal!”

Rolling her eyes, she plopped into the front of the mirror and called back, yelling with insalubrious spite, “Inform your master I deny his presence at all meals evening or not.”

A silence followed, and even with her stomach tightening she smiled at herself. It was a small victory, she was not obligated to eat with him. The last dinner she had was in his room, she would not fall for such a salacious plot.

Until the door was slammed open, hitting the wall with thunderous impact incited a shrill of her throat and a force of fright that lifted her from the seat to her own feet.

The cause? A strong and disturbed goblin footman.

“Dear lady, my master is within a disciplined mood but I am not, he demands with the highest accord of your presence.”

Her chest was heaving with air of her fright along with a frustrated huff, “Is it request or demand? I’ll have you know I am not a dog to call upon.”

A scoff was less than what she deserved, the goblin though fiercely displeased with Calista, he bowed and jerked his head to the side, “When you are under his roof, you obey him. You are his special guest, that does not mean you command your life here, it means you show him your gracious thanks.”

She felt silence was the easiest escape of this scolding. A goblin, a servant! How dare he insult her as such, she got enough of it from Lord Jakoby, now she was receiving this patronisation from his own servant bullies.

“Well then” she swallowed and tapped her fingers on her thighs, rocking onto her toes, “is it not clear I am not prepared for a dining?”

“No need for airs and graces madam, he awaits you, we are simple folk with a simple employer; please I must insist as his demeaner may turn south with a denial of his invitation.”

_“I do not invite myself to you, you are the thief who began a charade I merely ended.”_

Shaking her head a slight she murmured, “Is that so?” under the pretence of her relationship with this goblin servant, she lifted her chin and carried herself off out of the room all with the intelligence to keep her bedroom key by her side.

When she walled across the Hall to his bedroom the goblin rose his voice and walked a different direction, “This way dear lady.”

As she struggled to keep up with his long strides she shed her small jacket and thought curiously on where she was being led and whether Jakoby was possibly requesting her presence to apologise, but that did not sound like the orc she knew. The longer she walked the longer she hated this place for its ridiculous size. When the floods flattened would he design a ball to celebrate his own house comings? Such new money and a knight hood…how does a knight come up with this much leisure, her third half cousins were knights and moved to the Americas, none the less their title meant nothing to those people.

She chewed the inside of her cheek and couldn’t ride over her wonders of his fortune, if she was rich she would much like to I’ve comfortably, but was this a sit to gods gift of earth to own a greed as this? Were many Orcs so greedy? Her father bonded well as a merchant with them but he did always whisper to her brother “My sweet son,” and cup his cheek, “Those who are not human like us are,” he’d always shake his head trying to find the right words before shrugging, “Greedy company with a desire to make an extra few coins as many in this time.”

What if what her father said was true that orcs were greedy, what if her mother was right? Despite their orkish nursemaid, what if they were beneath humans and the other races.

He does not act like an Orc and he does not surround himself with other orcs, his tusks filed done to his teeth…why? Does he crave the powers of men? Is that why he insults her and abuses his powers over her? To be like a man? A wicked and evil human?

She almost ran into the Goblin when he stopped and turned to open a door.

Led in with the wave of his hand, she was introduced with marble beauty.

The pillars were white and the floors like glass plates. Mellowed with grays and pinks and blues and whites; she imagined heaven might look the same…. In the centre of such majesty was a long table that almost was as long as the large room its self. Fit for the entire house hold to eat from as if it were. And at the end of this grand table sat the Lord Master, Nicholas Jakoby with a smug look upon his face. He rose from the table and greeted her from where he stood.

“I am happy Korlov could bring you to me so quickly.”

Calista gazed with hesitation, his change of evening wear was too polished, freshly pressed. Why? Doning a deep blue cravat and a well sized waist coat, his hand held out to her from a long distance.

She ignored it and sat at the head of the table of her end. But when she waited for Korlov or some other awaiting servesmen to push in her chair she left waiting.

“Miss Flores,” Lord Jakoby sing songingly called to her, “I’ve a spot beside me right down here for you to sit.”

She called back “I’d rather not.”

“I rather you would Miss Flores,” he hummed as more servants came in, rolling a trolley of solid dished covered in domes. They placed one before him and another was placed to her arranged spot.

Disgruntling she obey and left her original seating. Trailing down the table, the closer she came to her chair she noticed a lack of cutlery for herself. When she reached the chair and looked down at the smug Orc she felt exposed…. She considered putting her small jacket back on. Instead Korlov gently stole it from her light hands and watched as Jakoby rose himself from his chair, pulling out hers to sit.

When her bottom slowly found the pushing cushion, a tight spring was screwing in her chest. The smell of food from the domes was mouthwatering. But where was her cup? Her spoon? Her fork? Her knife? her napkin was easy to find, spreading it across her own lap as Lord Jakoby returned to his chair. The air began to feel stuffy and her marble heaven crumble with his large shadow over her.

The sounds of tapping were small and jittery on the windows. Her eyes lifting saw the delicate spits of rain that began its slow heavy fall. More rain…more flooding….longer time spent here….with him.

Lord Jakoby was also one to acknowledge the rain but with the verbality of annoyance, “Exactly what we need, a deeper moat.” He shook his head slightly until the servants laid before them the domes.

Still without her cutlery but there was his, Calista brought it to light.

“My food is to be eaten by hand?”

He chuckled faintly before jeering his hand out for the servants to unveil the food. Steam ran out beneath the bowls and the heat welcomed them both. Delicious cut corn and chopped carrots were spread over her plate, a chopping of cooked potato. On his plate the very same, except he had gained two large sausages.

He smiled and mockingly gasped, “Oh dear, my apologies Miss Flores it seems the incompetency of my cooks have left you without a serving of meat, here,” he said, stabbing a sausage with his silver fork, “Care to have mine? Go on, take it into your mouth, enjoy.”

Behind her she heard the snickering giggles of some nameless maids. Her face grew pink, she glared at the sausage that dangled from his fork. Such an insult like a child waiting to process and inflict it.

Calista knew he meant war upon her mind, a cruelty she wouldn’t allow. It was offensive and inconceivably uncalled for.

Thunder rolled in, lightening completely outshining the candlelights. She tightened her jaw and smiled. Lifting her plate to the sausage. With his sudden bemusement, he scraped the sausage off onto her plate. The look of the meat made her frustrated. She did not place the plate down, no instead she lifted it higher, standing up slowly with a loud screech from the table legs against the marble floor. Finally she smiled herself down at the orc, before travelling the plate to his chest and depliberately poured all the plates contents onto his lap. She sat the empty place by his full one. The sausage flopped through the napkin on his lap and rolled between his legs. He gasped and growled at her.

Throwing her head back she laughed and walked away, throwing her hand up at Korlov when he went to block her way. Walking past him she returned to her bedroom and slammed and locked the door behind her…..tonight was the time for revenge and justice.

Inside her she laughed but trembled with fear, she made sure the handle was locked and then pressed a chair against the door.

* * *

She sighed leaning against her bedroom door, her ear pressed against it. Her eye ever so often peered through the key hole into the darkness. About an hour ago she heard Lord Jakoby return to his room presumedly for bed. The clocks outside were ticking in the silence, so close to midnight. The storms had calmed but the rain was heavy, there was no doubt the floods had risen….but she could not see such for their was no moon to see the waters rising onto the property.

This to her however seemed to be her only chance, her opportune moment to enact her wicked scheme. As many servants have probably returned to their rooms, she knew she could begin her journey.

Plucking a candelabra from her side table, she took her key and unlocked the door, slowly opening and praying to whatever god was there the door would not creak. She grit her teeth and moved lightly on her toes, the candle light was not her friend. It was hard to see with such a small light, but she refused to turn around and get another one in the case she makes any noise. She bit her lip and walked and prayed. If the years of attending church did her any good it was to praise god not ask him…so she praised the lord and complimented him and expressed her graciousness…even if she felt none.   


Getting to the library, she was surprised the floor was clear until she remembered Lord Jakoby had so many servants who would’ve cleaned the mess of books if found. She stretched her arm out hoping the candle light might help her find the door to the art gallery faster.

Stepping through and finding the door she grinned, she forgot her silent rule and dashed to the doorway.

Rushing down the marble walls and passed the pillars and busts of art she found the pocket where he kept her nude paintings. She could almost scream with delight! She set the candle aside onto a presentation block.

Stripping the curtains she discovered his mass collection. All back and covered with white sheets as dust protection. She was quick to grab on and ran out…now the difficult part was how would she get it outside? She sat the painting down and tapped her foot as she thought hard….she worried she had too much hope rather than planning these steps out logically. Licking her lips she scurried to the library and looked at the width of the windows….she had to pray and guess the painting frames would not catch or crash loudly if they landed on one another. Seven paintings.

She went back for the candle and struggled to push the windows open. She huffed and wanted to scream, wanted to break the windows but instead she just pushed, she couldn’t make any noise, not when she had come so far. The candle she worried would burn out as the wax melted quickly under the small flame.

With all her adrenaline and determination, Calista shoved each painting out of the window…each clattering but thankfully no one seemed to enter the library or gallery and investigate, she was in the clear!

Her candle was almost on its last spells. She whimpered for it to remain a light. Rushing out of the library and down a a few stairs, she quickly found the kitchen doors to the outside. The doors unlocked, she silently wept, was god finally on her side?

Rounding the house she found the paintings beneath the library window. Gently on the wet grass she laid the candelabra and hurriedly went through the bushes. She threw the smaller paintings onto the largest and dragged the carting painting through the mud, away from the windows and shrubbery. As she continued to drag and drag and drag…her feet suddenly felt a puddle…a deepening puddle. She could hear the frogs croak around her but with the night it was impossible to see much behind her… climbing out of the slippery puddle, she knew something was amiss. She picked up the candle and gasped when she held it out a few feet… before her the fast flood had rose… she was standing in the flood water. Never had she seen something so terrifying before… if it rained again would it reach the gardens and the house?

It would take more than a week for the water to go down now…

And as she thought this, a singlet drop of rain fell from the sky. Her blood ran cold. The sky was ready to unleash another storm….a spark of lighting hit the distance and lit up her surroundings…the horror of the waters was worse than she thought originally. She shook her head and touched the flame to the white sheets. And let the flames rushed to burn before they could be soaked in rain. The wind picked the flames up. Blowing out the candle she held but infuriating the ones over her paintings. She sighed and smiled, tears filled her eyes. Her relief was glorious….Doing this she knew would design trouble but it meant Lord Jakoby would have nothing to hold over her head….until that is…she realised….the paintings were not there.

As the white sheets burned away on the canvases and frames, she saw the horror unimaginable…clank white canvases…the fire was hot and bright and her plan had failed.

A heavy hand clawed harshly around her arm and tugged her back away from the hot spitting flames, “I am to come into understanding that you are not aware to that law which permits arson to any sense of property is a crime punishable by death Miss Flores?”

Lord Jakoby was the last person she was prepared to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Chug this bucket of milk, I have no idea how you got through it Darling!


End file.
